


Prized

by Nahiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Characters will die, Child Abuse, Dissociation, F/M, M/M, Mental Torture, Mind Control, Slow Burn, The author promises that there will be a happy ending, actual torture, bad things happen to harry, bad things happen to lots of people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 120,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nahiel/pseuds/Nahiel
Summary: Severus Snape's loyalty has always been to Harry, not to Dumbledore or the Order. When he finds out that Harry is a horcrux and Dumbledore intends to have him killed, Severus goes to the Dark Lord with the information in an effort to save Harry's life, and in doing so changes the fate of the world.





	1. Prologue

“Are you quite certain, Severus?”

 

“I am, my lord.  The information comes from Dumbledore himself.  And it would make sense, considering the small matter of the connection between the two of you.”

 

Voldemort’s breath left him in an irritated hiss.  “So, he thinks he can fool me?  Thinks that I’ll just play along with his game and kill a piece of myself?  If that is indeed the case, Severus, then I refuse to play his game.  I’ll change the rules instead.  Harry Potter is mine, and I won’t have him injured.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Severus agreed with a low bow of his head.  It was exactly as he’d hoped.  Of course Voldemort wasn’t willing to allow one of his horcruxes to be potentially destroyed.  He would keep Potter safe.

 

“Does Dumbledore know anything of my others?  Or is it just Harry that he knows about?”

 

“I believe that he knows of several, my lord.  It is my understanding that Dumbledore intends on going after your ring at some point this summer, perhaps within the next week or so.”

 

Voldemort let out a soft, hissing laugh that was filled with amusement.  “Is that what he intends?  Then I suppose he would just be ever so disappointed if there was nothing waiting for him when he got there, wouldn’t he?” he asked through his laughter.

 

“He would indeed, my lord,” Severus agreed.

 

“And… tell me, Severus, do you believe that Harry will eventually grow to appreciate what I intend to do to keep him safe?”

 

Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “There is… information that I possess which will, I believe, make him far more amenable to a change in his loyalties.  Provided, of course, that you are not overly averse to the idea of his learning that he is in fact one of your horcruxes.”

 

Voldemort sat up straight in his chair, then, and all the amusement faded from his expression.  “In that case, Severus, I’ve new orders for you.  I want Harry safe and out of the hands of Dumbledore.  You have access to his summer residence, yes?”

 

“I do, my lord,” Severus said.

 

“Then you will take him from there.  Tell him whatever you deem prudent, so long as it ensures his cooperation.  I will have a Muggle driver meet you at his summer residence, and you will escort him to a safe location.  Since I’ve no doubt Dumbledore will notice him missing and will call upon you to join the search, you will leave him in the hands of the person who meets you there.”

 

“Of course, my lord.”  Severus bowed low to the Dark Lord and, when he was dismissed, he left.

 

How could Dumbledore have been so foolish as to forget the nature of Severus’ oaths?  His loyalty was to Harry, and Severus would do anything to keep him alive.  He’d sworn no loyalty to Dumbledore, none to the Order.  Just to Harry, in his mother’s name.

 

Perhaps Harry wouldn’t be happy with the hand that life was dealing him.  He would be furious and betrayed at the information that Severus was going to give him, but… but he would be alive to be unhappy, and that was what mattered.  It might not be what Harry would have wanted, and it might not be what Lily would have wanted, but it was something.

 

The Dark Lord would make certain that Harry stayed alive, and that was more than he could say for Dumbledore.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

There it was.

 

It was beautiful.  It was nothing like what he’d expected, and yet, it was everything he could have hoped for.  The magic pouring from the stone was breathtaking.  How could Voldemort not have realized what he’d had in his possession?

 

Albus couldn’t resist.  He reached out, picked up the ring, and placed it upon his finger.  It looked perfect.  It was perfect.

 

At least, it was perfect for the second he had before his finger began burning fiercely.  Albus tore the ring from his finger and flung it away, but it was too late.  Already there was a small, painful black spot of rot on the finger where the ring had rested, and it was slowly spreading.  Had the ring been a trap?  But… how could Voldemort have known that Albus was coming?

 

He couldn’t have.  There was no way he could have known.  Perhaps Voldemort really was just that paranoid.  This was one of the things anchoring his soul to the world, after all.  Had he ever been so foolish to create a horcrux, Albus knew that he, too, would have been rather paranoid in the protection of them.

 

He’d been an idiot, he supposed.

 

And then, as he was about to leave the remains of the shack, he appeared.  Albus drew his wand but realized before he could embarrass himself with the first curse that he was looking at some sort of illusion.  It had to have activated when he’d put the ring on his finger, or perhaps even when he’d picked the ring up in the first place.

 

“Oh, Albus, you’ve gone and made things so much easier on me,” Voldemort said with a vicious grin.  “As though I would have ever left one of my seven horcruxes just lying around for you to destroy.  What sort of fool do you take me for?  I would never leave anything of mine in your hands for long.  The lack of care you take with your things is appalling.”

 

Voldemort’s bloodthirsty grin softened.  “I have no doubt that you’ll be able to slow the progression of this curse.  But you won’t be able to stop it entirely, and in the end, it will kill you.  The rot will spread from your finger to your arm, and up through to your heart.  Once it reaches there, you will die an excruciating death.  I was going to make dear Draco kill you, but I’ve another task in mind for him now.”

 

“Best of luck to you, Albus.  This is the last I’ll be bothering with you, so good luck with the rest of your life.  It will be terribly short, but I suppose you could still make it sweet.”

 

The projection faded with an amused chuckle from the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore closed his eyes.  If Voldemort was to be believed, he was dying.  But he at least now knew how many horcruxes there were.  That was… it was something.  The ring was undoubtedly a fake, but at least he had something to go on now.  He could at least continue his research.  The information could be given to Harry, at least some of it, and the rest could go to Severus.

 

It wasn’t an ideal situation, of course.  Albus had intended to see this through, to live in a peaceful world with no Dark Lord.  But at least one way or another, Voldemort would fall.  Albus had done so much in the name of that goal, he couldn’t imagine any other outcome.  

 

Voldemort had to fall, once and for all.  He was going to make sure of it.


	2. Chapter One - The Professor's Promise

The summer was passing… relatively normally, actually.  Too much work, too little food, and nobody cared.  On the one hand, the work was great because it kept his mind off of Sirius.  On the other hand, the lack of food was making him terribly dizzy.

 

Harry knelt in the front garden, his vision going spotty.  He’d had a piece of toast for breakfast since he was still on punishment for chipping a plate last night.  He wouldn’t eat again until dinner, and that would be only if Petunia was feeling terribly generous.  Which she likely wasn’t.  And the stripes on his back from that same punishment burned viciously with every drop of sweat that hit them.

 

“Are you quite well, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Oh, and now I’m hearing things,” Harry muttered.  Were hallucinations a side effect of hunger?  He didn’t think so…

 

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Potter, you are not hearing things,” Professor Snape said, sounding mildly amused.

 

Harry shot to his feet and spun around and immediately regretted the motion when his head spun and his knees tried to buckle.  When the dizzy spell faded, Professor Snape was carefully bracing him with his hands around Harry’s upper arms.

 

“Again, Mr. Potter, are you well?”  The Professor’s voice was, weirdly enough, the gentlest Harry had ever heard it.  He actually sounded almost concerned.

 

“Just hungry, Professor,” Harry said honestly before he thought about it.

 

“Then I might suggest eating, rather than gardening.”  Professor Snape withdrew his hand carefully, though he stood much closer than before.  He probably didn’t want Harry passing out on his watch.

 

“Oh, yes Professor, because that thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Harry muttered.  It wasn’t like Hogwarts was in session.  He didn’t have to pretend to like the man, or be polite to him.  It wasn’t like he could take points or assign a detention, after all.

 

Professor Snape’s lip twitched upward ever so slightly in what could only be an expression of mild amusement.  “And yet, Mr. Potter, I find you here.  Gardening.  One might wonder at the logic of such a thing.”

 

There were so many things that Harry wanted to say in response to the somewhat snide comment.  That he was on punishment and had already eaten once, that he was lucky to be outside and not locked in his room with nothing to do but stare at the walls and think of Sirius, that he could die and the Dursleys’ only concern would be how it looked to the neighbors.  He swallowed them all back and instead said, “I’m sure you’re here for a reason that has nothing to do with critiquing my dietary habits, aren’t you?”

 

The Professor inclined his head.  “Indeed I am, Mr. Potter.  We could, perhaps, discuss matters over lunch.”

 

Harry shrugged.  “If you insist,” he said, although food did sound sort of amazing.  “We could go out somewhere, I guess.”  He didn’t let his hope bleed into his voice.  The thought of getting away from the house for a bit was almost intoxicating, but somehow he doubted that was going to happen.

 

The Professor’s smile was something vicious as he responded with, “No, actually I was thinking that your dear Aunt Petunia might be willing to host us.”

 

Harry frowned.  Not because he’d actually expected to get to leave the house, of course, but because the tone in the Professor’s voice sounded almost like… No.  That was ridiculous.  How would Professor Snape have ever met his Aunt?  He couldn’t possibly know her.

 

“Are you still working on the garden, you good for nothing-”  Aunt Petunia’s voice cut off with a small squeak, interrupting her shouting.  “You!  Snape!  What are you doing here, and dressed like that?”

 

The Professor glanced down at his black robes and a smirk crossed his lips.  “Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance, Petunia?”  The Professor had that silky, dangerous tone to his voice that Harry was familiar with as he added, “And here I thought you might be pleased to see me after all this time.”

 

“You know my Aunt, Professor?”  Harry asked before he could stop himself.  Then he wanted to kick himself.  What did it matter if the Professor knew his Aunt?

 

“I…”  Professor Snape paused and then said softly, with a peculiar look upon his face, “I grew up with your mother, actually.  She was my friend, up until the point when I made a terrible mistake.”  He closed his eyes, his expression pained, then he opened his eyes and shook his head.  “Enough about that.  Won’t you let me join you for lunch, Petunia?  Harry and I have matters that need discussing.”

 

Petunia’s breath left her in an irritated hiss.  “By all means, Snape, come in.”  Harry had never heard a more begrudging invitation, and it made him stifle a grin.  “You too, brat.  I’ll see if I can’t find something suitable for lunch.”

 

Harry figured that suitable meant the least she could provide without raising questions, but it was better than he would have gotten without the Professor’s presence.  So he followed the Professor and his Aunt into the house, and ignored Dudley’s squawking when she seated them at the kitchen table.  She bustled through the kitchen while Harry and the Professor sat in silence and Dudley complained loudly at their presence.  Eventually she placed a sandwich and a cup of soup in front of them both, along with a glass of water.

 

“This is lovely, Petunia, thank you,” the Professor said.  He even managed to sound like he meant it, though the smirk on his face gave the lie to that thought.

 

Her lip curled into a snarl.  “Dudley, you and I are going to go get lunch elsewhere.  If you need anything else, Snape, Harry can get it for you.  He knows his way around the kitchen.”  The look she shot Harry as she said it told him that they’d better not need anything else.

 

She left the kitchen, then, and Harry heard the door slam shut a few moments later and with it Dudley’s obnoxious complaints were cut off.

 

Harry took a deep breath.  “So, Professor, you needed to talk to me?”  He picked up his cup of soup carefully, his hands shaking a bit, and took a sip.  It tasted like heaven, even though it had probably just come from a can.

 

“I think that matters can wait until after you’ve eaten,” the Professor said quietly, his smirk fading to a frown now that Aunt Petunia wasn’t in the room.

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  “It’s surprising, Professor, but I am actually capable of eating and talking at the same time.”  He took a bite of his sandwich after he finished speaking to prove his point.

 

The Professor quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Very well.”  He took a sip of his own soup, swallowed, and then, as Harry finished taking another sip of his soup, said, “We’ll be leaving here at the conclusion of our conversation, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry choked on his sip of soup and glowered at the Professor through watering eyes.  He’d done that on purpose.  Harry was sure of it.  And the slight grin on the man’s lips made it clear that he was amused by it, too.

 

“As I said, Mr. Potter, we’ll discuss it after we eat.”

 

The rest of the meal passed in an awkward silence.  Harry drank all of his soup and managed to eat only half of his sandwich.  Once he started to feel nauseous he pushed the sandwich away from him and sipped at his water.

 

The Professor raised an eyebrow at the other half of the sandwich but said nothing.  He finished his own meal, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then leaned back in his chair.

 

“Well?” Harry asked.  He wanted to know where he was going, and why they were leaving now.  It was still early in the summer for him to be leaving Privet Drive, not that he was complaining.

 

“The news that I bring to you may be… distressing, Mr. Potter, and I think you will find it difficult to believe so long as the information comes from my words alone.  Since I do not really wish to discuss the veracity of my statements with you, I’ve taken the liberty of bringing this with me.”  He pulled a miniaturized Pensieve from his pocket and restored it to it’s original size with a tap of his wand.

 

“You’re going to have me watch one of your memories?”  Harry was startled.  After the rage the Professor had shown last year when he’d… well, he was surprised.

 

“I don’t believe that you’ll trust what information I have for you based only on my word alone, Mr. Potter,” the Professor said.  “Nor do I think you should.  But I need you to believe this information, and this is the only way I can think of for you to do so.”

 

Harry felt a frisson of dread inside of him and pushed it away.  He focused instead on the Professor extracting his memory and placing it into the Pensieve.  Once it had been extracted, the Professor gestured with one hand to the Pensieve.  “Please, Mr. Potter.  We’ll discuss the memory after you’ve viewed it.”

 

There was something in his eyes, a sort of regret that made Harry wonder what exactly he was going to see, and then he closed his eyes and immersed himself in the memory.  There was probably only one way to find out.

 

He found himself in the Headmaster’s study, watching as Professor Snape settled himself in the chair across from the Headmaster’s desk.

 

“Have you heard anything new in your meetings, Severus?” the Headmaster asked quietly, even as he poured tea for the two of them.

 

“I haven’t.  The Dark Lord has been remarkably close-mouthed about his plans, considering the way he normally speaks of them.”

 

The Headmaster’s frown was fierce.  “Has he mentioned Harry recently?”  He passed the second teacup to the Professor, who did not drink.  He merely cradled the cup between his hands.

 

Snape shook his head.  “He hasn’t.  As I said, he’s been very quiet recently.  Should he have been mentioning Harry?”

 

The Headmaster sighed and leaned back in his chair.  “You know that Harry is the subject of the prophecy, yes?  I’ve been.. monitoring him for years.  Ms. Granger tells me that his letters this summer have become increasingly depressed.”

 

Harry’s stomach dropped even as Professor Snape said, “He did just lose his godfather.  I’d be surprised if he weren’t depressed.”

 

“Mr. Weasley reports a similar level of depression, along with a lock of interest in most things.  Both state that the level of his depression does not seem consistent with the way that Harry normally responds to a great loss.”

 

Harry’s breathing stuttered a bit.  Ron and Hermione were spying on him for the Headmaster.  His two best friends in all the world were… were what?  Informing on him?  Suddenly Harry was certain that he didn’t want to see the rest of the memory, but he didn’t think he had much a choice.  For one thing, he didn’t know how to extract himself.  With some effort, he returned his attention to the conversation.

 

“-since before his first year, actually.  I made the deal with Molly after Hagrid took the boy for his supplies.  He’d expressed concerns after seeing the boy speaking with a Malfoy, and Harry is so very important that I could leave nothing to chance.”

 

“You didn’t know that Voldemort was coming back even then, did you?”  Professor Snape’s tone was guarded, but perhaps the Headmaster didn’t notice.  Or maybe he did and he just didn’t care.  Harry couldn’t really tell.  “There was always the chance that Harry had defeated him the first time around.”

 

The look that the Headmaster shot at the Professor said exactly what he thought of that.  “Voldemort was always coming back, Severus,” he said, somewhat impatiently.  “It was only a matter of time.  It’s very fortunate that now I’ve figured out how he managed it.”

 

The Professor’s eyes widened.  “You have?”

 

“I began to suspect in Harry’s second year with that awful diary.  How could a sixteen year old have created a such a powerful artifact?  And what sort of artifact could actually manage to possess a child as Ginny was being possessed?”  The Headmaster shook his head.  “It took me several years, but eventually I figured it out.  Tell me, Severus, have you ever heard of horcruxes?”

 

Professor Snape’s breath left him in a rush, along with all the blood in his face.  The word itself gave Harry another chill.  “The Dark Lord made a horcrux?  No wonder he’s mad.”  The Professor shook his head.

 

The Headmaster laughed, a soft and bitter sound.  “Not just one, Severus.  He made several.  Enough that, when he went to kill little Harry to make sure that the Prophecy could never come true, he accidentally made another.”

 

The look on the Professor’s face was terrible.  “That’s how the Dark Lord was possessing him last year,” he breathed.  “We need to get that thing out of him.”

 

The Headmaster shook his head.  “I’ve looked, Severus.  The only way to remove a horcrux from its vessel is to destroy the vessel.”  He sounded almost mournful as he added, “That would mean that we would have to kill Harry.”

 

“And as long as Voldemort has even one horcrux left…”

 

“He will always be anchored to this world.  Severus, I tell you this because I am concerned.  I am going after one of the horcruxes, a ring, but it could be rather dangerous.  If I die in this, I need you to take over the hunt for me.  And, when the time comes…”

 

The memory cut off, then, throwing Harry back to the real world.

 

Harry stared blankly at the Professor, at a loss for words.  What could he say?

 

“Are you well, Mr. Potter?” Professor Snape asked gently, and Harry shattered.

 

He started crying and then he couldn’t stop.  He wrapped his arms around himself, hunched over, and sobbed helplessly, the pain too great to stop the tears.  HIs friends… weren’t.  They weren’t his friends.  They were… they were spies, for the Headmaster, because…

 

Because the Headmaster needed him to die to get rid of Voldemort.

 

“Why would you tell me that?” Harry choked out through his tears.

 

“I thought it was something that you deserved to know,” the Professor answered, as though it were obvious.  There was, however, a bit of regret in his voice that hurt all the more for Harry to hear.

 

Harry began to cry harder, then, and only managed to choke out another, “Why?” before he could get nothing else out.  He felt something inside of him give way, heard glass shatter, then heard nothing as he fell unconscious.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus studied the damage Harry had done to the house.  It was impressive, actually, that he’d managed to almost bring the ceiling down on them considering his physical condition.  All the windows on the first floor were broken and one of the walls had blown out.  His grief was.. impressive.

 

“You!  What have you done to my house?” Petunia shrieked.  Her whale of a son stood behind her in the entrance to the kitchen, an awestruck look on his face.

 

He hadn’t realized that so much time had passed.  Nonetheless, the timing of their return was fortuitous.  “Just the two I was waiting for,” he said quietly.  “ _ Stupefy! _ ”

 

They both fell to the floor, unconscious.  With a careful application of two Obliviates, he made them remember an argument with Harry, followed by the explosion, followed by their passing out.  There was nothing of his presence in the house, and to further that illusion he cleaned the dishes he’d been using and replaced them in the cabinets.

 

“ _ Accio _ Harry’s things,” he murmured.  He heard a great thumping noise, followed by a crash and an indignant hooting.  Soon enough Harry’s owl and trunk were at his feet, the owl snapping her beak irritably at him from her cage.

 

He ignored her, shrunk Harry’s trunk, and placed it into his pocket.  He lifted Harry into his arms carefully and levitated the cage behind him.

 

He carried him down the front walk and out to the long black car waiting for him at the curb.  He settled Harry and then sat next to him and said to the driver, “Go.”

 

The car pulled smoothly away from the curb and Severus closed his eyes and relaxed.  They had Harry.  He was safe.  He could keep his promise to Lily.

 

Harry would be okay.  He would make certain of it.


	3. Chapter Two - Narcissa

When Harry woke up he knew immediately that he wasn’t in the Dursley’s house.  His bed there had never been so soft, and the sheet that he’d had wasn’t anything like the warm blankets that surrounded him.  It almost felt like he was lying on a cloud.

 

He blinked blearily up at the ceiling, an unfamiliar shade of off-white, and tried to figure out what had happened.  The last thing he remembered was…

 

“Are you awake, then?”

 

Harry went from half asleep to mostly awake in a the space of a breath.  His heart pounded.  That voice.  He sat up straight, the motion tugging at his abused back painfully but he didn’t care.  That voice!  He stared at the speaker, then felt his heartbeat settle into something more regular.  Not Bellatrix.

 

But…  “Mrs. Malfoy?” he asked, just to make sure.  He’d never spent any time around her at all, but he was pretty sure he recognized her.  She certainly looked like a Malfoy might, regal and ever so slightly disdaining of her surroundings.

 

She inclined her head gracefully.  “We’re in a hotel in France,” she said quietly.  “Since I’m certain you were about to ask.  Severus must help the Order search for you, or he would have been glad to stay with you himself.  I’ve been tasked with your care until such time as our Lord deems it safe for you to return to London once more.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened in realization.  “Snape gave me to the Dark Lord,” he said quietly.  “This… isn’t exactly the sort of cell that I would have expected from him.”  And then he winced, because he really should try to get out of the habit of blurting out whatever was on his mind.  It wouldn’t serve him well in the weeks to come, he imagined.

 

Narcissa frowned at him.  “This isn’t a cell at all, Mr. Potter, this is a five star hotel in Muggle France.   Although, for your own safety, I must request that you not leave the hotel.  The Order will be searching for you.”

 

“Why would Voldemort put me in a hotel somewhere?  I thought he wanted me dead.”  Harry’s head was starting to ache in his confusion.

 

“I do not know what prompted his decision, but the Dark Lord has declared you are precious to him, and are to be treated accordingly.  You are in no danger from any Death Eater, at least not from any that hope to retain the Dark Lord’s favor.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed, and immediately regretted it when his back protested.  “And what if I’d like to leave?”

 

“I’m afraid that I have been asked to keep you here through any means necessary,” Narcissa said calmly, and lifted her sleeve slightly to reveal her wand, in a holster on her arm.  “That includes anything up to and including placing you into a magical coma until such time as someone more qualified than I arrives to keep you in place.”

 

Harry sighed.  He rolled onto his side and curled as much into a ball as he could without his back hurting.  What did it matter, anyway?  It wasn’t like he had any reasons to escape.  The Headmaster believed that he had to die to end the war.  His friends were spies.  He wondered if they had ever really been his friends, or if they’d always been spying on him.  Had anything they’d shared been real?   
  


“I realize that being stuck inside isn’t any young man’s idea of a good summer,” Narcissa began, her tone somewhat lecturing.  “There is, however, quite a lot to do just inside this building.  They’ve a spa, several different swimming pools, and a movie theater.”

 

“I… in the hotel?”  Harry’s confusion distracted him from his growing depression.  What kind of hotel had all of that stuff?  None that the Dursleys had ever mentioned.

 

“More of a resort, I suppose.  We could also go horseback riding, apparently, although that would necessitate our going outside.”

 

Harry rolled over and found that Mrs. Malfoy was reading off of a brochure.  “You have no idea what some of that is, do you Mrs. Malfoy?” he asked, amused despite himself.  The thought of a Malfoy in a movie theater was an entertaining one.

 

“Of course not,” she answered with a small sniff.  “They are, for the most part, Muggle activities.  And please, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to call me Narcissa.”  Her smile, when she looked up at him, was soft and gentle.

 

Harry couldn’t keep himself from responding to the smile with a hesitant one of his own.  Were Ron here, he imagined he would have been just as confused as Narcissa was.  People raised in the magical world never did seem to do well moving about in the Muggle one.  Not that it mattered anymore, because he would never go anywhere with Ron again.

 

The thought broke his burgeoning good mood, and Harry rolled back over and stared at the wall.  “Maybe we could do something tomorrow,” he said quietly.  Not that he thought that he would want to do anything tomorrow, either.

 

“You must be exhausted,” Narcissa said after a moment of silence.  “I’ll leave you to rest, then,” she murmured.  He heard her moving about the room, and the room went dark.  She must have drawn the curtain over the huge windows on the other side of the room, and for that Harry was grateful.

 

He heard the door click as it closed, and then he was alone in the room.  How appropriate.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“He hasn’t left the room all day, Severus.  Not since you left him with me,” Harry heard Narcissa say, and heard the door crack open.

 

The light from the outer room crept in and Harry closed his eyes against it.  He’d been alone in the dark for a while, after all, and it hurt his eyes.

 

“Mr. Potter?” he heard Professor Snape ask quietly.

 

Harry didn’t answer.  Perhaps it was childish of him, but he didn’t want to.  He couldn’t find the energy.

 

He heard the Professor let out a small sigh.  “We’ll be out shortly,” he said, presumably to Narcissa.  The door closed again and the lights flicked on, bright and punishing even with his eyes closed.

 

Harry flinched and buried his head in the pillow to ward off the brightness.

 

He felt the bed dip behind him and felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “I can understand that you’re upset,” the Professor began quietly.

 

“Why didn’t you just kill me?” Harry asked before he could continue.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Why didn’t you just kill me?  Why give me to Voldemort?”

 

“Would you have preferred it if I had?” the Professor asked, sounding genuinely startled.

 

“Maybe,” Harry whispered.

 

He heard the Professor suck in a sharp breath of air.  There was a moment of silence and then, softly, the Professor said, “I joined the Death Eaters when I’d only just graduated from Hogwarts.  Shortly after I joined, I overheard a prophecy regarding the fall of the Dark Lord.  Because I was eager to prove myself, I took that information to Voldemort and only after I did so did I realize that I’d just as good as killed your mother.”

 

Harry rolled over and stared up at the Professor.  He was staring off at the wall, a far away look on his face.  Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, but closed it once more without speaking.  What could he say?

 

“I loved your mother, Harry, very much.  I… it was information that I gave the Dark Lord that led to her death.  I wanted to die when she did.  But I didn’t, Harry, because I made her a promise.  I swore on her grave, on my magic and my life, that I would do everything in my power to keep you alive in the years to come.”

 

“But you hate me,” he managed to choke out through the shock spreading through him.

 

“A part the Headmaster asked me to play.  I had no choice in it, Harry.  If it would help keep you alive, Harry, I would have given anything.  You hating me was a small price to pay.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  It was a lot to process, and he wasn’t sure… he couldn’t… He took another deep breath.  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

 

“For now, I’d like for you to get up and have dinner with Narcissa and I.  Eventually, I would like to see you happy and thriving in this new environment.”  The Professor’s lips quirked into a slight smile.  “I acknowledge the difficulty of such a thing.”

 

Harry thought about that, turning it over in his mind for several minutes.  Finally, he sat up.  He ignored the twinges in his back as he did so.  “I can do dinner,” he offered quietly.

 

The Professor’s smile broadened.  “I am glad to hear that,” he said.

 

Harry tried to return his smile.  He could do this.  He could.  He could at least try, anyway.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The restaurant was nice, nicer than any place Harry had ever been in his life.  He felt very much out of place in his oversized jeans and t-shirt, especially next to Narcissa and Professor Snape.  She wore a dark blue dress and he wore a button-down shirt and trousers.

 

“Relax, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said calmly.  “You’re fine.”

 

“I just really don’t think I should be in a place like this dressed the way I am,” Harry muttered.  He slouched into his chair behind his menu and tried to make himself inconspicuous.  He felt like everyone was staring at him, even if he was pretty sure that they weren’t.

 

“If they had a dress code, they wouldn’t have let you in,” Narcissa said.  “Have you never been in a restaurant like this?”

 

“No.”  There was a lot that he could have added to that statement, about the Dursleys and the way that he’d grown up, but he didn’t.  It wasn’t any of their business, and it didn’t matter anyway.

 

“Then this is the perfect way to begin your etiquette lessons,” she said, a smile in her voice.

 

Harry’s head jerked up and he stared at her incredulously.  She looked incredibly smug, with just a hint of a smile on her lips.  “Etiquette lessons?” Harry finally asked.

 

“If you’re going to be in the presence of the Dark Lord, you must know how to properly handle yourself.  That includes eating in restaurants much fancier than this one.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and opened his menu instead.  He wanted to close it almost immediately.  He couldn’t read anything on the menu.  It was written entirely in French.  Which, now that he thought about it, made sense.  They were in France, after all.

 

Harry let out a small groan and let his head flop against the table.  It hurt, but since he could already feel a headache blossoming, that was okay.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Dinner had been something of an exercise in torture, and so Harry was glad to get back to his room after it was over.  He retreated to the bedroom he’d come to think of as his own almost immediately, leaving Narcissa and the Professor in the sitting room.  Only moments after he’d fallen forward onto the bed, someone tapped on the door.

 

Harry groaned but called out, “Come in!”

 

The Professor entered the room and settled into the chair near the bed.  “Are you going to behave for Narcissa?” he asked bluntly.

 

Harry sat up and shrugged, ignoring the pulling on the marks on his back.  “It isn’t like I have a better option, is it?” he asked.  If he sounded a bit bitter, he was pretty sure that nobody could blame him.

 

The Professor leaned forward.  “Harry, I swear she has your best interests in mind,” he said quietly.

 

Harry’s lip curled.  “She doesn’t know me,” he snarled.  “She has no idea what’s in my best interest.  And neither do you, for that matter.  Neither one of you know anything about me!”

 

“Did you want me to leave you there, then?  To let Dumbledore continue to manipulate you until it was time for you to die?” 

 

Harry flinched.  “I don’t…”  He stopped and took a deep breath.  “I suppose not,” he said.

 

“I know that this is hard on you, Harry,” the Professor said gently.  “Don’t think that I don’t understand that this is probably one of the worst things you’ve ever dealt with.  You were betrayed, and I don’t blame you for being upset.”

 

“Well, as long as you don’t blame me, Professor,” Harry muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

 

Professor Snape laughed quietly.  “You should be thanking me, you know,” he said.  “The Dark Lord’s first thought was to send somebody you would be more comfortable with.  A boy of your own age, with good manners and impeccable breeding.”  The Professor paused, then added, “He thought Draco would be a good candidate.”

 

Harry felt the blood rush from his face.  “Professor,” Harry began, only to stop when the Professor raised one hand.

 

“I told him that it was likely far too soon for you to try to make friends so soon after the ones you had betrayed you.  That was when he decided on Narcissa.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry breathed.

 

“Don’t think you’ve escaped it entirely.  All I’ve done is buy you some time.”

 

“Yeah, but all I have to do is make it work for the two months until Hogwarts opens, then…”  Harry stopped suddenly as a thought occurred to him.  “I won’t be going back to Hogwarts, will I?” he asked.

 

“No,” the Professor confirmed.  “I believe the Dark Lord intends to find you a suitable private tutor to finish your education.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  When that was shaky, he took a few more for good measure.  “I’ll behave for Narcissa,” he finally managed to say, answering the initial question.

 

The Professor took it for the dismissal that it sort of was.  He stood and said, “I don’t know when I’ll be able to return.  The Headmaster is desperate to have you found.  If the Dark Lord does choose to send Draco to you, please try to be civil.”

 

Harry groaned but said, “I’ll try.”  Then, after a moment of thought, he said, “I’ll try if he does.”

 

The Professor nodded.  “Stay safe, Harry.”  He walked to the door, then, and opened it.

 

Just as he was about to step through, Harry called to him, “Professor!”

 

Professor Snape turned with one eyebrow quirked in question.  “Yes?”

 

Harry took another deep breath.  “I don’t…”  He stopped and cleared his throat.  “I don’t think I said.  I haven’t really been at my best.  But… thank you, again, for saving my life.”  He looked down at the carpet, a dark red that probably hid a multitude of stains.

 

“You are most welcome,” the Professor said softly.  He left the room and the closed the door behind him.

 

Harry let himself fall back onto the bed and flinched at the spike of pain from his back.  He rolled onto his side and stared at the closed door.  He could stay in his room and sulk, which was what he really wanted to do.  Or… or he could get up and go into the sitting room and speak with Narcissa.  See if he could make things easier on both of them, rather than being difficult and unreasonable.  This wasn’t her fault, after all.

 

He stood and left his room.  Narcissa was sitting on one of the armchairs near the windows in the sitting room.  She was reading a book, though she looked up and smiled when he came out.  He cleared his throat and said, “You said something about etiquette lessons?”

 

“I did, indeed,” she said, and placed a bookmark in her book.  She set it on the coffee table next to the chair.  “Please, sit with me.”

 

Harry nodded, and went to sit in the other armchair.  He could do this.  Really.  He could.  If he kept repeating it, maybe it would even be true.


	4. Chapter Three - The Hunt for Harry

The minute Harry Potter left Privet Drive several instruments on the Headmaster’s desk began to react.  Albus considered them, then shrugged and grabbed his cloak.  Harry often left Privet Drive during the summer, but those incidents didn’t effect his instruments like this.  The only time they’d ever responded in this way had been when Harry had run away just before his third year.

 

With everything that had gone wrong recently, the last thing he needed was to lose Harry.

 

Dumbledore left his office with a sigh, hoping that, however unlikely it might be, this matter would be quickly resolved so that he could return to his study of the curse on his arm.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Of course, Harry wasn’t anywhere to be found on Privet Drive.  Dumbledore had hoped that he would have at least stayed on the street, but he saw no sign of the boy.  And the house, when he looked at it…  the windows were all shattered from within the house.  Had there been an attack?

 

Albus let out a small sigh and headed for the Dursley home.  Harry had most likely lost his temper again, given than an attack on the house was highly unlikely.  It wasn’t as though anyone knew where it was, after all.  Albus hadn’t anticipated Harry exploding so badly, since he hadn’t done so in years, but he supposed that he should have anticipated it.  The boy had had an incredibly stressful fifth year, after all.

 

“Albus!  We aren’t taking him back!” Petunia shrieked as soon as she opened the door for him.  “That freak ruined my house!  He could have killed us!”

 

“I know,” Albus said soothingly.  “I’ll get the house all fixed for you, and I’ll take him in hand for the rest of the summer.  I just need to come in and look around a bit, just to see if I can’t figure out where he went.”

 

Petunia reluctantly stepped aside and allowed him to enter.  Not that it did any good going into the house.  There was nothing to indicate where Harry might have gone, or even what he might be planning.

 

“What was the argument about?” he asked Petunia as he began repairing the house.

 

When she didn’t answer, he paused in his work to look over at her.  Her face was flushed, either with rage or embarrassment, or with both.  He waited, eyebrows raising.

 

Finally, she shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively.  “The point is that we won’t have him back in this house, Albus.  I mean it, this time.  No matter what Vernon did to the freak, he couldn’t keep him in line this time!”

 

“Of course,” Albus said agreeably.  He could always come back later and change her mind about that, if he had to.  Of course, the first and most important thing would be to find Harry, and he was still no closer to a clue than he had been.

 

Still, there were other places he could check.  This was a problem, but it certainly wasn’t the worst problem he’d ever faced.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Once he’d looked around a bit more, checking some of the more easily accessible places that Harry had been to such as the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, he realized that there was a chance that this wouldn’t be as easy as he’d anticipated.  He couldn’t do this alone.  There were simply too many places the boy could have gone and Albus wouldn’t be able to search them all by himself, not without Harry moving, anyway.

 

He didn’t quite want to alert the Ministry, not yet.  Scrimgeour was a very different beast from Cornelius, and Albus wasn’t certain what he would do in a situation like this.  There was also the chance that, if the Ministry got ahold of Harry first, they would seek to influence him in a negative way.

 

He could, however, use the Order.  They would help him look, and gladly.  But… perhaps they shouldn’t be his first resort.  He wanted to have more information for them before involving them with this mess.  But where to go to get that information?  If Harry had left in a fit of temper as both Petunia and the windows suggested, then he likely wouldn’t have told either Ron or Hermione where he was going.

 

On the other hand, perhaps he’d confided in them with some sort of escape plan.

 

His frown growing more severe by the minute, Albus apparated away from Diagon Alley.  The boy was far too much trouble, honestly.  He was necessary, but perhaps there were ways he hadn’t considered of permanently modifying his behavior...

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Hermione was found, as usual, in the library near her house.  Now that she was old enough, she spent her free time either volunteering there or simply haunting the stacks, expanding her knowledge of the mundane.

 

Albus had, in the past, had several meetings with her at this particular venue.

 

And so it was that he knew precisely where to find her among the books, in a quiet, out of the way back corner, head bowed over a large tome.  She didn’t notice him until he settled across from her, and then she only shifted one of her other books out of his way in an automatic gesture of courtesy.

 

“Miss Granger,” he said gravely, and allowed himself a small smile when she jumped.

 

“Headmaster!  I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you!”  She immediately marked her place with a slip of scrap paper and closed the book.  “How can I help you?”

 

“Harry’s gone missing,” Albus told her.  “All signs point to his running away from Privet Drive, quite voluntarily.”

 

Hermione let out an irritated tsk.  “That boy,” she said with a shake of her head.  “I swear, Headmaster, he does these things on purpose.”

 

“Sometimes I do wonder,” Albus said with an agreeable nod.  “Unfortunately, I have no idea where he’s gotten to this time.”

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed.  “He hasn’t gone to Diagon Alley?” she asked, her lips twisting into a frown.

 

“Nobody’s seen him there,” Albus answered.  “And people invariably notice him.  It would be almost impossible for him to have been there without somebody spotting him.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes and was silent for several moments.  Albus knew that, in these sorts of moments, Hermione was going over past interactions with Harry in her mind.  He’d seen her do it during Harry’s end of year evaluations, and so he was quiet and waited while she thought.  Normally she came up with something useful, and he certainly hoped that would be the case this time as well.

 

When she finally opened her eyes, however, her frown was still there.  “I’m very sorry, Headmaster,” she said softly with a shake of her head.

 

Albus felt his heart sink.  “You don’t know anything,” he guessed.

 

“Harry…  you know that he won’t talk much about his home life.  We try, but he just shuts down on us.  But the one thing that he has said is that he would love to spend an entire summer in Diagon Alley.  If he isn’t there, sir, then I have no idea where he is.”  She looked genuinely distressed as she added, “I’m terribly sorry for disappointing you.”

 

Albus offered her a reassuring smile.  “You could never be a disappointment, my dear girl.”  He stood then.  “Though it’s a bit of a long shot, I suppose that I’ll try Ron next.”

 

Hermione smiled hesitantly back at him.  “Good luck, Headmaster.  If there’s anything else I can do, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

 

“Of course, Miss Granger.”  He nodded to her, then turned and traced the familiar path out of the library.  Ron was next, and that was sure to be an exhausting conversation.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Ron was a bit harder to find, but eventually Albus managed to track him down in the fields behind his house.  He was sitting on a low stone wall on the side of a dirt road that likely led to nowhere, considering how overgrown it was.  

 

Ron’s eyes darted up to the Headmaster’s face, then darted back down just as quickly.  “Headmaster,” he said in greeting.

 

“Harry’s gone missing,” Albus said bluntly.

 

Ron snorted.  “Maybe he’s finally on to you.”

 

“You’d certainly better hope not.  How will your family afford to send both you and Ginny to school without help?”  Albus narrowed his eyes at the boy.  Every year, Ron got more and more aggressive about this, and every year it grew harder to force him into line.  One year, he feared that things would progress too far and he’d have to use other measures to keep Ron under control.

 

Ron’s lip curled.  “Fred and George graduated.  My parents should be more than able to afford it now.”

 

“Do you know where Harry might have gone?” Albus asked, ignoring what Ron was trying to say.  He simply didn’t have time to deal with a second rebellious teenager while the first was still missing.

 

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” Ron said, scuffing his foot in the dirt of the overgrown road.  “In case you missed it, I just quit.”

 

Albus took a deep breath.  “Ron,” he began, holding onto his patience with all the strength he had.  The boy was utterly infuriating!  “Surely you realize how important it is that I keep an eye on Harry.  He’s terribly important, and will always be important whether your family needs this money or not.  If you care about his safety at all-”

 

“I’ll keep him far away from you,” Ron said coldly.  “I’m not stupid, Headmaster.  You’re getting him ready for something, and I doubt that something’s any good.  You’ve been training him to kill himself since he was just a baby.”

 

“How could you say something like that?” Albus asked, projecting a scandalized tone into his voice.  Inwardly, he seethed.  How in the world had the boy figured it out?  By all accounts, he was supposed to be the idiot of the group!  Good at strategy, yes, but that was about it.

 

“With my mouth,” Ron said, his lips quirking up.  “Are we done, sir?”

 

“We are, I suppose.”  Albus toyed briefly with the idea of compelling Ron to behave, but… but Molly Weasley was far too observant for such a thing to work.  Perhaps once he had Harry back, and once both of them were at Hogwarts, he could use the boy’s well-being against Ron, if only so that Ron’s sudden change of heart didn’t give away Hermione’s spying as well.

 

He just hoped that one of his many, many methods of control worked on the boy, or he would simply have to make him disappear.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

In the end, Albus had no choice.  Harry had been missing for several hours now, and the longer he waited, the less likely it was that he would be able to find the boy.  And so, reluctantly, Albus called the Order to a meeting.

 

Once everyone had settled in, Albus cleared his throat.  He said, “Harry Potter has gone missing from his home.  There was no evidence of any kind of attack, but he must be found as soon as possible.”

 

“Are you sure the boy isn’t just sulking somewhere after a temper tantrum?” Severus asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

“I’m almost positive that’s what happened,” Albus said.  “But we still need to find him, Severus.  If Voldemort gets ahold of him…”  Albus trailed off and shook his head.

 

“Where would he have gone?” Tonks asked, frowning.  Her hair had turned a disgusting murky green.  Albus supposed that it signified her confusion, or perhaps her concern.

 

“Harry doesn’t know much about the wizarding world,” Remus pointed out.  “He’ll probably end up at either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade soon enough.”

 

“Unless he tries to stay among Muggles,” Moody said.  “Potter’s got a better understanding of the Muggle world than just about anybody else in the room.  He could move in that world and we wouldn’t have a chance of catching him.”

 

“He could,” Remus agreed, but he was frowning.  “However, I don’t think that he will.  He loves the wizarding world far too much.  He’ll want to make his way back to it as soon as he can.”

 

“I think you’re right, Remus,” Albus said into the silence that followed.  “Severus, I want you to keep an eye on Diagon Alley.  Minerva, Hogsmeade.  Alastor, if you’d keep a partial eye on both for me, that would be wonderful.  Tonks, Arthur, Kingsley, keep your ears open at the Ministry.  See if anyone’s heard anything.  Remus, I’ll ask you to keep an eye on Privet Drive.  See if he returns there for any reason.  Molly, keep an eye on your children.  They’re often his partners in crime, and he’s very likely to contact one of them soon enough if he needs some kind of assistance.”

 

He glanced around the room, seeing grave concern mingled with understanding on everyone’s faces.  “Any questions about your assignments?”  When there were none, he nodded.  “We’ll find him soon enough.  There’s certainly no cause for any kind of alarm.”

 

The meeting broke up after that as the members of the Order went to fulfil their various assignments.  They would find Harry soon enough.  Quite simply, they had to.  It was far too late in the game between himself and Voldemort for Albus to lose control of Harry.

 

There was simply too much riding on the boy for him to walk away now.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

But they didn’t find him.  A week passed, and Harry Potter was nowhere to be found.  Albus had been forced to notify the Ministry officially, and their Aurors had joined in the hunt for Harry.  And still, in spite of all the eyes searching for him, there was no sign of the boy anywhere.

 

Severus swore that the Dark Lord didn’t have him, and Albus believed him, if only because he had no other choice.  If Voldemort had Harry in his power, then everything was lost.  Voldemort would have killed Harry as soon as he could have, and quite frankly, Harry had to still be alive.  There was no other option.

 

The school year would be starting in a handful of weeks, which meant that both Minerva and Severus needed to begin preparations for their classes.  As much as he hated to do it with the boy still out there, he had to pull the two of them off of the search.

 

Harry would come back to Hogwarts for the start of the school year.  He didn’t have anywhere else to go; he had to be tired of running.  And Hogwarts was his home, the only one that Harry had ever had.  Albus had made certain of that.  Harry wouldn’t be able to stay away from his only home, no matter how upset he was.

 

Albus would just have to have a conversation with the boy when he came back to Hogwarts.  They simply couldn’t have another incident like this one again, not with as close as they were to the end game.

 

Harry had to stay in his place.  It would be an absolute disaster if the boy were to start doing something so ridiculous as developing a will of his own.  Albus had worked long and hard to prevent any such thing from happening, and he’d be damned if the boy would undo all of his hard work.


	5. Chapter Four - Draco

The week with Narcissa was… interesting.  Harry learned a significant amount of fairly useless information, mostly about wizarding etiquette.  Most of it, he’d be honest, went in one ear and out the other.  He didn’t care if he was supposed to bow or kiss a lady’s hand or… whatever, really.  He had more important things to worry about.

 

But he was polite, and in return Narcissa was polite, and they managed to get along just fine.  He certainly wouldn’t call this week the worst week of summer he’d ever had, though he also wouldn’t call it the best.

 

It was nice, though, the way that she bought him new clothes.  It was nice to be able to wear Muggle clothing that actually fit him as well as his school robes did, even if the fabric rubbing against the raw skin of his back hurt more than he’d thought it would.

 

Of course, the neutrally decent summer couldn’t quite last.  About a month before he would have been returning to Hogwarts, Harry returned to the suite from spending time wandering the hotel to find Draco Malfoy waiting for him.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, with an inclination of his head.  He’d been seated on the couch, but he stood when Harry entered the room.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice even.  The Professor had warned him, he just hadn’t thought… of course Snape had been serious.  That was just how his luck tended to run.  Why was he even surprised?

 

“My mother’s gone home,” Malfoy was saying.  “There are several functions coming up that she cannot miss without arousing suspicions.  While she is attending to business, the Dark Lord has sent me to keep you company.  He doesn’t want you to be lonely.”

 

Harry fought down a snarl.  “I’m not okay with this,” he said through gritted teeth.  Just because he wasn’t surprised didn’t mean that he had to accept Malfoy’s presence.  He’d rather be alone than spend time with the blonde Slytherin.

 

Malfoy’s lips quirked into a slight smile, startling Harry.  “You think that I am?” he asked, sounding genuinely amused.

 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

 

“You say that like I have a choice,” Malfoy said.  “My father has failed the Dark Lord twice already, both times with disastrous results.  I cannot afford to do the same, and this task far easier than the other the Dark Lord had in mind for me.”

 

“You could have chosen not to follow Voldemort,” Harry pointed out, and wasn’t too proud to admit that he grinned when Malfoy flinched at the sound of the name.

 

Malfoy chuckled softly.  “And here I thought that mother was spending her time educating you,” he said through his laughter.

 

“She tried.  I’ll admit that I wasn’t exactly listening to her most of the time, in spite of her best efforts.”  Harry stepped hesitantly into the room, finally letting the door swing shut behind him.  Malfoy wasn’t going anywhere, so Harry supposed that he was going to have to get used to this.  And if he was getting used to it, then that meant that he wasn’t going to hover awkwardly in the doorway.

 

“If you’d paid any attention at all, you would understand that I don’t get to make these sorts of choices.  I am my father’s son, and as such, I do as he commands.  Otherwise, I run the risk of being disinherited, which would be an absolute disaster.”

 

“So you bow to whoever he bows to, and get assigned to babysitting duties?”  Harry shook his head.  “Doesn’t sound like any kind of life that I’d want.”

 

Malfoy shrugged.  “Like I said, I’d rather babysit you than try and figure out how to kill Dumbledore, or try and figure out how to bring Death Eaters to Hogwarts.”

 

Harry tensed, then forced himself to relax.  It wasn’t any of his business, not anymore.  There was nothing he could do even if he were so inclined, anyway.  He had no way of contacting the outside world at this point, and Dumbledore… well, he might listen, but Harry wasn’t sure that he was really inclined to tell Dumbledore anything, given what he’d learned about the old man.

 

Malfoy was watching him carefully and, when Harry relaxed, a tension that he hadn’t even noticed seemed to ease within the Slytherin.  “I’m pleased to see that you’re going to be reasonable about this.”

 

“Was that a test?” Harry asked evenly as he leaned back against the door.  The contact against his back made him wince a little, but he didn’t want to stand up so soon after relaxing.  It would look strange, and Harry… he didn’t want anyone to see the evidence of how much his Aunt and Uncle had hated him.

 

Malfoy shrugged.  “Technically, no, but I suppose you could consider it as such.  The Dark Lord doesn’t particularly care if Dumbledore finds out what his old plans were for this coming year.  They don’t matter anymore.  If you’d decided to give the old man the information, it would just mean that I’d have to watch what I say around you.”

 

“How do you know that I haven’t decided to tell the Headmaster?” Harry asked, a bit curious in spite of himself.  “I could just be biding my time.”

 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Potter,” Malfoy said with a slight smirk.  “You won’t tell Dumbledore a thing.”

 

Harry acknowledged the point with a nod.  “So how long are you staying here?” he asked, changing the subject.  He moved away from the door and settled into the chair closest to it, a large and soft chair that Harry had come to think of as his own during his time in the hotel.

 

Once he’d settled in his chair, Malfoy sat down once more.  “I’ll most likely be here with you until it’s time for you to return to England,” he answered.

 

Harry frowned.  The answer was… unsatisfactorily vague.  “So I go back to England in a month, right?” he asked, trying to narrow down the time frame.

 

Malfoy shook his head with a small smile.  “I didn’t say that, did I?”

 

Harry frowned.  “Hogwarts starts up again in a month, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes it does,” Malfoy said agreeably.  “But I think you’re already aware that you won’t be returning to Hogwarts, and I’m not entirely sure that I will be, either.  If I get along with you, there’s a very good chance that the Dark Lord will keep me at your side.  I don’t believe he wants you to get lonely.”

 

Harry’s lips quirked against his will.  “I don’t know that I’ll be able to get along with you,” he said honestly.

 

“If it helps, I don’t intend on deliberately antagonizing you,” Malfoy offered.

 

Harry shook his head.  “I guess, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve spent years doing it.  I don’t know that I’m going to be able to just push that aside, and I don’t think I should.”

 

Malfoy, to Harry’s surprise, nodded in agreement.  “I know,” he said.  “Potter, nobody thinks that this will be easy for you.  You’ve… your world has turned on its head, and I know that you’re struggling to put things to rights in your own mind.”

 

There was something in Malfoy’s voice that made Harry ache, something almost like sympathy, and Harry flinched away from it.  “I don’t need your pity,” he said coldly.

 

He stood, then, and retreated from the common area and into his bedroom.  Once the door had closed behind him, he rested against it and raised a shaking hand to his face.  What did Malfoy know, anyway?  His friends had betrayed him, the Headmaster had betrayed him, who knew who else had betrayed him.  His whole life had been a lie, leading up to his intended death.  Everything had been orchestrated by the Headmaster, and Harry had trusted the man!  Had he known that Harry had grown up in a cupboard?  Had he cared?

 

How could Harry trust anyone now?  Everyone had lied to him, from his very first day at Hogwarts.  But… Malfoy hadn’t, had he?  He’d offered Harry his friendship, and there was no way that Dumbledore had prompted that.  Had Malfoy’s father encouraged it, maybe?

 

Maybe… maybe… maybe he could trust… no.

 

Harry crossed the room and curled up under his covers after toeing off his shoes.  He couldn’t handle this right now and, more importantly, didn’t want to try.  He wanted to rest, because he was so tired of worrying about things he couldn’t control.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The mirror activated, and Draco immediately went into his own room and closed the door, a sinking feeling forming in his stomach.

 

“My Lord,” he said, and bowed his head over the mirror.

 

“Malfoy,” the Dark Lord said.  “Have you met with him yet?”

 

“I have, sir.  We had a… brief conversation.  I think that, considering our past history, it went well enough.”  It wasn’t perfect, but Potter hadn’t attacked him, so that was something, right?

 

“Define well enough,” the Dark Lord said with one hairless brow raised.

 

“We had a civil conversation,” Draco said obediently.  “I think he was almost willing to accept my friendship until I accidentally pushed him too far.  Even then, he merely retreated to his room rather than resorting to any kind of violence.”

 

The Dark Lord frowned.  “How far did you push him?”

 

“I offered him sympathy that he wasn’t prepared for,” Draco answered.  “I think that, given time, I will be able to become a suitable companion for him.”

 

“And are you prepared to invest the time that it will take?  You understand that you will be giving up your Hogwarts education if you choose to begin this task.”

 

“I am prepared, sir, and I do understand,” Draco said.

 

“I’m asking you for an honest answer, Malfoy,” Voldemort said coldly.  “Harry Potter has recently become very important to me.  I made a mistake in entrusting your father with something equally as important to me, and he failed me.  And then I gave him the chance to acquire the prophecy, and he failed me in that respect as well.  Do you intend to fail me as your father did, young man?”

 

Draco took a shuddering breath.  “I don’t, my Lord.”

 

“Are you just saying that because you fear the punishment I’ll give you if you don’t?” the Dark Lord asked, his tone severe.

 

Draco couldn’t fight his smile and ducked his head to try and hide it.  “My Lord, when I was a younger child, I dreamed of befriending Harry Potter.  To have this chance, and to have it on your orders, is an opportunity that I cannot walk away from.”

 

“If you’re certain that you can handle this, I’ll begin searching for a tutor so that the two of you can continue your magical education.”  There was a sound from beyond the mirror and the Dark Lord’s expression darkened.  He said, “Do not fail me, Draco.  Your job is twofold: keep Harry alive, and keep him happy.  I will be in touch.”

 

The mirror went dark and Draco took a deep breath.  He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax as he exhaled slowly.  It was done.  Harry was in his care, now.  He had the chance to both redeem his family name and to prove to Harry why he would have been a better chance for a friend in their first year.

 

He wasn’t about to ruin it.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

When Harry woke up, his back protested the way that he sat up.  It burned viciously, and he wished that there was a way that he could check it.  He was almost certain that it was getting a lot worse, not better.  And he didn’t have any clue what to do about it that didn’t involve asking someone else for help.  Harry really didn’t want to do that.

 

He went into the suite’s luxurious bathroom and stripped off his shirt.  He twisted, but could only manage to see his shoulders in the mirror.  They were still as raw as they had been, but now they were hot and the edges looked red and angry.  Were they infected?  What was he supposed to do with infected cuts?

 

They’d never gotten infected before when Vernon had belted him.  The whole month he’d been with them, every morning when he woke up the injuries had been mostly gone, except for the last few times.  What was different?  What had changed?

 

He put his shirt back on and winced as the fabric hit his back.  The clock in the bathroom said that it was five o’clock, and that meant that it was almost dinner time.  Harry wasn’t particularly hungry, in fact he was a bit nauseous, but he supposed he should at least make an appearance.

 

He left his room, ignoring how shaky he felt.  It would pass in a few minutes.  The dizzyness always did, and then things would be normal again.  He just hoped that he didn’t fall over or trip.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy said, and stood once more when Harry came into the room.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said evenly.

 

Malfoy frowned at him.  “Are you okay, Potter?” he asked hesitantly.  “You’re awfully pale.”

 

Harry offered him a shaky smile.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “Just…”  Should he mention it to Malfoy?  He didn’t want to tell anyone, but…  he knew at this point he probably should.  He should have told Narcissa when she was here, since she was actually an adult, but the time for that was past.

 

“Just…” Malfoy repeated, trailing off meaningfully.

 

Harry took a step forward and stumbled as his knees gave out.  Malfoy darted forward and caught him, then lowered him carefully to the ground.  Harry couldn’t help the hiss of pain as Malfoy’s hand pressed against his back.

 

“What’s wrong?” Malfoy asked urgently.  “Potter, you’re burning up.”

 

“I just…” Harry trailed off.  Why was it getting so dark?  It was only five o’clock; the sun shouldn’t be setting just yet.  “My back,” he started to say, but the world went dark around him before he could finish his sentence.


	6. Chapter Five - Emergencies

Severus had anticipated hearing from Draco at some point over the next few days, probably sooner rather than later, but he hadn’t expected the panicked call on the phone on the first day that Draco had been due to arrive at the hotel.

 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, the minute he answered the call.  Apparently it had been a very good idea to teach Draco to use a Muggle telephone, if the calls were going to start as early as this.

 

His godson’s panicked voice greeted him.  “Harry passed out.  He came out of his room a few minutes ago, really pale and shaky, said something about his back, then he fainted.”

 

Severus hissed in a breath through his teeth.  His back? What had the foolish boy been hiding?  “I’ll be right there,” he said, and hung up.  He grabbed a handful of potions, ones that he would need for dealing with what was likely an infection of some kind, and Apparated away from his cottage.

 

It took a few jumps to reach the hotel where Harry was staying, but he made it there with little trouble.  He didn’t bother with Apparating outside and walking to the room, deciding that saving time was more pressing than his godson’s surprise.  Instead, he appeared in the middle of the living room of the suite.

 

Harry was laying on his stomach on the couch and his godson was pacing nervously back and forth, his grey eyes wild with worry.  “He collapsed on the floor,” Draco said anxiously.  “But I didn’t think it looked… I mean, I couldn’t just leave him like that.  So I moved him.”

 

“That’s fine,” Severus said, as calmly as he could.  They couldn’t both panic, and Draco was more than panicky enough for the both of them.  “Did you happen to look under his shirt at all to see what we’re dealing with here?”

 

Draco winced and shook his head.  “I didn’t.  I wasn’t sure what would be appropriate for me to do, and I didn’t want to risk making him any more uncomfortable with me than he already is.”

 

Severus considered the statement.  “He’s already going to be uncomfortable with you,” he pointed out carefully.  “He still sees you as an enemy, and now you’ve seen him in a weakened state.  Potter won’t take that well, regardless of whether or not you assist me in examining him.”

 

Draco let out an irritated, hissing breath.  “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted quietly.

 

“I’ll need your help to get his shirt off,” Severus said, “So you’re going to see whatever it is anyway.  I need you to be professional right now, Draco.”

 

Draco breathed in.  “I can do that, sir,” he said, and visibly braced himself.  “I’m not sure that I want to, but I can do that.”

 

Although Severus suspected that he knew what had caused the injury that Potter had hidden, if indeed that was what they were dealing with, Severus remained uncertain as to the severity of the injuries.  If they were injuries, and not something else that Severus could scarcely imagine.  Certainly, the most probable cause was that Vernon had been taking a belt to the boy, either in a rage or just because he could.

 

When bidden to do so, Draco gamely propped Harry up and held his limp form steady while Severus peeled off the shirt.   What he saw made his breath catch in a combination of revulsion and sympathy.  Harry’s back was an infected mess of marks that could only come from a belt.  At points, there were two or three lash marks overlapping, new ones covering the old.

 

Draco gagged a little bit at the sight of Harry’s wounds.  “Merlin,” he breathed, once he had himself under better control.  “That’s awful.”

 

“It is,” Severus said.  He’d thought there would be an infection, but he had never imagined that it would be as bad as it was.  Vernon was a monster, and Petunia was apparently just as bad for allowing such treatment of a relatively defenseless child.  Severus was almost certain that Voldemort would see them both dead for the insult, and likely sooner than he’d already been planning.

 

Severus pulled out the salves that he’d brought.  “It’s a bit worse than I’d expected,” he said to Draco as he unscrewed the first lid.  “He’ll need this applied twice daily for at least a week, but likely for longer.”  The salve was cool and sticky as he began to smear it over Harry’s back.  He was glad that Harry was unconscious, because this would surely have hurt, had he been awake.  “Will you be willing to help him, or do we need to find alternate arrangements?”

 

“Of course I’ll help him!  I’m…”  Draco let out a huffing, offended breath.  “I’ve been given a task, Severus, and I’m determined to do it well.  I want…”  He trailed off, then, and when Severus looked up he could see a light flush on his godson’s cheeks.

 

Severus’ eyebrows raised.  “You want?”  Now that his hands were on Harry’s back, Severus could feel how very thin he was.  No wonder he hadn’t been willing to talk to Petunia about food.  He wondered how much they’d fed the boy for the month that he’d been in their care.  Not much, obviously.

 

“I’ve always wanted to be his friend,” Draco said quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

 

When Severus looked at him sharply, Draco was staring down at Harry’s face, the faint flush on his cheeks growing darker.  “He’ll need a friend in the months and years to come,” Severus said neutrally, and took his hands off of Harry’s back.  The salve had been applied, so that was something.

 

He went to the bathroom and washed off his hands, a laborious process given how sticky they were.  As he dried them, a ghostly phoenix burst through the wall of the bathroom.  A patronus.  Dumbledore’s to be specific.

 

“Severus, I need you for an emergency meeting right away.  I need to discuss some things with the Order, and it really can’t wait until our next scheduled meeting.  Be at our meeting place as soon as you can.”

 

The patronus disappeared and Severus swore violently.  Of course Albus would need to meet with them right now.  Of course it would be during a crisis.

 

He stormed from the bathroom.  “I’ve been summoned to Dumbledore’s side,” he told Draco, who immediately sat up straight.  “The salve gets applied twice daily.”  Severus tapped the jar of salve on the lid.  Then he tapped the vial of potion next to it.  “When he wakes up, he gets this potion to help with the infection.  I’ll be back as soon as I can, because I’ll need to attend this meeting and then meet with the Dark Lord.  Keep him on his stomach as much as you can, and try to keep him calm and resting.  Any questions?”

 

“No, sir,” Draco said quietly.  “I’ll take good care of him.”

 

Severus hesitated, then said, “I’ll be back.”  He turned and Apparated away.  He’d wanted to say something about the look in his godson’s eyes, the hunger that he was pretty sure that he’d seen, but Draco wasn’t stupid.  He wouldn’t make advances on Harry knowing that it might antagonize the Dark Lord.

 

And if he did, if he was foolish enough to upset Harry with an unwanted advance, there wouldn’t be anything that Severus could do to save him.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

He was the last of the people to arrive at Grimmauld Place, at least, the last of Dumbledore’s inner circle, which was comprised of himself, Molly and Arthur, Moody, Lupin, and Minerva.  As soon as he took his seat at the table with them, Albus stood, his expression grave.

 

“I have some… difficult news for all of you,” he said quietly.  “I’m afraid that I’ll be leaving all of you at the end of the coming school year, perhaps sooner if we are terribly unlucky.”

 

Severus relaxed ever so slightly.  He knew what this meeting was about.  This wasn’t anything groundbreaking, like Albus actually managing to find the boy, or managing to destroy another horcrux.  Not that Severus believed Albus would ever share that information with the other members of the inner circle.

 

“What are you talking about, Albus?” Moody bit out.  His fake eye was rolling madly, and his face was set in a thunderous scowl.

 

“I’m dying, my friends.”  With those simple words, Albus took the glamour off of his arm.

 

The shocked and grief-filled exclamations made Severus’ ears ring.  He’d known the reaction would be bad, especially considering how well-loved Albus was, but he hadn’t anticipated the sheer volume of the noise.  Molly and Minerva were both crying, Molly loudly, and Moody was barking questions at the Headmaster.  Arthur was sitting in stunned silence and Lupin… Lupin was glaring at him, his nostrils flaring.

 

“Silence!” Albus finally shouted, and was obeyed immediately, except for Molly’s sobs.  “Severus and I have managed to slow the spread of the curse, but as far as I can tell, it is unstoppable.  It will kill me, likely by the end of the school year.  What we need now is not panic, but instead planning.”

 

The meeting that followed was subdued, but productive.  After Albus’ death, the plan was for Moody to take over running the Order.  Of the available options, Severus supposed that he was the best.  He might actually manage to provide some form of resistance to the Dark Lord, while the others would have caved under the pressure.  Minerva would take over Hogwarts, with Severus acting as her Deputy Headmaster.  In other words, Albus was going to do exactly as Voldemort suspected.

 

The meeting broke up only an hour or two after it began, and Severus prepared to leave.  He left the house and walked to the alley that served as the Apparition point for the house.  He was preparing to go to Voldemort to make his report so that he could return to Harry in France when he was shoved roughly up against the wall.

 

“Where is he, Snivellus?” Lupin snarled, his amber eyes glowing almost gold in his fury.  His face was a mask, barely recognizable and animalistic, more wolf-like than Severus had seen it outside of the full moon.

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Lupin?” Severus hissed back,and shoved ineffectively at the werewolf.  It wasn’t even a full moon, or close to it, so he had no idea how Lupin was as strong as he was.

 

“You know what I am,” Lupin growled.  “I’m a werewolf.  I can smell him on you.  His blood, his pain, the stench of sickness.”  Lupin let him go, abruptly, as his rage faded.  “He’s all I have left, Snape,” he said plaintively.

 

Harry.  Lupin could smell Harry on him.  “Oh, bugger all,” he groaned, and sagged back against the wall.  “Why didn’t you bring this up in there?”

 

Lupin eyed him like he was the crazy one.  “Do you think I’m stupid like Dumbledore does, Snape?  I can put two and two together to get four.  Every year so far something terrible has happened to Harry, and you can’t tell me that Dumbledore couldn’t have stopped most of it, because I won’t believe it.”

 

Severus’ eyebrows rose.  “And what do you believe, then?” he asked.

 

Lupin shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “But I don’t think that he’s training Harry to live through this war that’s coming.  It’s almost like-”  Lupin cut himself off and shook his head.  “But that would be ridiculous,” he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself.

 

“It’s almost like what, Lupin?” Severus asked, his voice going silky.  “Like Albus wants the boy dead?”  He made a snap decision and hoped that he wouldn’t regret it.  “What if I could offer you proof that Harry’s death is exactly what Albus wants?”  Lupin could be the person they were looking for, if Severus played his cards right.  And as much as he disliked the man, Harry trusted him.

 

Lupin flinched.  “Where is he, Severus?  What’s been done to him?” he asked, instead of answering.

 

“He’s safe,” Severus said, with the weight of a promise.  “I promise you that.  Certainly he’s safer than he was with the Dursleys.  He’s recovering their… incredibly tender care even as we speak.”

 

“Can I see him?” Lupin asked.

 

Severus considered.  “There will be oaths needed,” he said.

 

“I’ll swear to you whatever you want,” Lupin promised.

 

Severus smiled, a slow and dangerous thing.  “You won’t be swearing them to me,” he said.  “And I cannot guarantee your safety.”

 

Lupin stared at him silently for a moment, then hung his head in surrender.  “He’s all I have, Snape,” he said, his voice low.  “Where are we going?”

 

“Hold onto my arm,” Severus said, and when Lupin gripped his arm tightly, he apparated them away.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus had to give Lupin credit; the wolf didn’t object when they appeared in front of Malfoy Manor.  That was honestly better than he’d hoped for, given the swift and impulsive nature of his decision.  He’d honestly believed that there was a chance he’d have to put the wolf down.

 

They were not stopped as they made their way through the Manor to where Severus’ knew the Dark Lord’s study to be.  Once they stood outside the door, Severus stopped and turned to Lupin, his expression grave.  “You know who is on the other side of that door,” he said quietly.

 

Lupin nodded once, his expression entirely blank.

 

“I don’t think I need to tell you how very poorly this could go for you,” Severus continued.  “Are you certain you want to do this?”

 

Lupin’s lip curled into a sneer almost worthy of his own.  “I told you, Snape, Harry’s all I have left.  If this is his side, then I suppose this is my own.”

 

Severus nodded and rested his hand on the handle of the door.  “Do not, under any circumstances, draw your wand without permission.  He’ll cut you down without hesitating, and he’ll probably kill me as well, since I’m the one who brought you.”

  
When Lupin nodded once, Severus tapped on the door and waited for a response.  As soon as one was given, bidding him to enter, Severus opened the door and stepped into the Dark Lord’s study.  He dropped to one knee and murmured, “My Lord, I believe that I have brought you a solution.”


	7. Chapter Six - Lupin

Of all the things that Remus could claim, he could never claim that he’d been thinking clearly when he’d cornered Snape in that alley.  All he’d known, all he could think about, was the fact that the man had reeked of his godson… of Harry, who wasn’t his godson no matter how much he wished that he was.  And that could only mean that Snape knew exactly where Harry was.

 

And Harry, dear Harry, was the only good thing he had left in the world, in spite of what Tonks kept trying to convince him of.  She never did understand that he wasn’t interested in girls, and his relationship with Sirius hadn’t just been friendly, no matter how often he’d tried to explain it to her.

 

But that was neither here nor there.  The point was that he’d cornered Snape without thinking, and was then rather surprised when the man actually confirmed what he’d long suspected.  Remus still didn’t know exactly what Dumbledore was planning, but it was clear that he didn’t have Harry’s best interests at heart.  It was quite the opposite, judging by the way Snape had spoken in the alley, assuming that Remus believed him.  And, Merlin help him, Lupin did believe him.

 

So, even though his heart was screaming at him for betraying Jamie and Lily and Siri like he was, he went with Snape to see the Dark Lord.  He knew in his heart that it wasn’t truly a betrayal, at least, that’s how he tried to justify it to himself.  He would never agree with the Dark Lord’s ideals, and right now, Harry was the most important thing.  They would have understood, eventually, James and Lily and Siri.  They would have wanted Remus to be there for Harry, no matter what.

 

He told himself that, but the thought was a cold comfort and he would never know for sure.  He could only hope that he was right.

 

He’d guessed where they were going long before they apparated, and was unsurprised to wind up at Malfoy Manor.  He wasn’t even surprised when Snape gave him one last warning, because he knew who would be on the other side of the door.  It would be Voldemort, and Remus knew that he would be lucky if he walked away from this meeting with his life.  But he had to try.  He had to be there for Harry, if he could be.

 

He was, admittedly, a bit surprised when Snape stepped through the door, dropped to his knee, and said, “My Lord, I’ve brought you a solution.”

 

The Dark Lord’s gaze was sharp.  “Aren’t you Dumbledore’s pet werewolf?” he asked idly, his tone at odds with his piercing red stare.

 

Remus fought back the snarl that wanted to rise to his lips.  “I’ve worked for Dumbledore and his Order, yes,” he said with forced mildness.  It took everything he had, every bit of control he’d ever used on his wolf to keep from snarling at the abomination sitting before him.

 

This was for Harry, and he needed to keep that in mind.  Harry wouldn’t be helped by Remus losing his temper and getting himself killed.

 

Voldemort’s lips curled into a slow smile.  “You don’t like me, do you?”

 

“You murdered two of my best friends and are indirectly responsible for the death of a third.  To say that I don’t like you is something of an understatement.”  Lupin’s lip curled up, entirely against his will, and he added a sarcastic, “Sir.”

 

Voldemort, to his surprise, chuckled softly.  “And yet, here you stand.  Why?”  Voldemort leaned back in his chair and tapped his wand against his desk, a picture of carefree behavior.  Yet Remus had no doubt that this man could strike him dead before he so much as twitched, should he want to.

 

Honesty was the only way to go, so Remus took a deep breath.  “You have Harry,” he said simply.  “He’s all I have, and I want to be with him.”

 

“That’s absolutely adorable,” Voldemort said with a small laugh.  “You think he could be our tutor?”  This, clearly, was not addressed to Remus, but instead to Snape, who had yet to rise from his kneeling position.

 

“I think he’s one of our best bets, sir,” Snape said quietly.

 

“Tutor?” Remus dared to ask.

 

“You can’t possibly imagine that I’m going to allow Harry to go back to Hogwarts,” Voldemort said with a shake of his head.  “No, no, Dumbledore is far too dangerous.”

 

“So you’re looking for someone to teach Harry,” Remus guessed.  He had done well in his time as Defense professor, and was more than proficient in most of the classes offered at Hogwarts.  Proficient enough, anyway, that Harry wouldn’t suffer from poor teaching.

 

“Not just Harry.”  Voldemort shook his head.  “He’ll have at least one companion.  I understand that isolation is bad for boys of his age.”

 

“And you’re concerned about what’s good for boys of his age?” Remus asked before he could stop himself, the words slipping out.

 

Voldemort straightened in his chair, and his fingers, already unnaturally pale, went white around his wand as he clenched them.  Then he breathed out, and his fingers relaxed.  “Not that it’s any of your business, Lupin, but Harry’s well-being is one of the things that matters most to me.”

 

Again, before Remus could think better of it, he found himself blurting out, “That’s certainly a change.”

 

Voldemort didn’t seem offended.  “It is,” he agreed.  “And I’m not going to tell you why I made that decision, because quite frankly, I’m not entirely certain that I trust you.  Your motivations are certainly admirable, but they seem rather simplistic.”

 

Remus breathed in, then out.  “Harry’s the only thing left of my pack,” he said quietly.  “You’ve worked with Greyback before, I trust that you understand what that means to a werewolf.”  Then, when Voldemort didn’t respond, he said, “I don’t expect you to trust me with anything sensitive, sir.”

 

Voldemort’s lip curled into something that resembled a smile, macabre on his pale, snake-like face.  “At least, if nothing else, you’re aware of your place here.  Assuming that you have one, that is.”

 

“There is another benefit to using Lupin,” Snape said.  When Remus turned to look at him, he could just make out the faint smirk on the Potions Master’s face, hidden by the curtain of his hair.

 

“Oh?” Voldemort sounded, at best, politely disinterested.

 

“Potter’s compliant right now because he’s too depressed to be anything other than compliant, and he’s too ill.  But that will not always be the case.  Having Lupin on our side will help to keep him in a more compliant mood.”

 

“Ill?”  The one word was sharp and demanded immediate response from Snape.  Remus certainly didn’t mind that, given that he would also like to know what was wrong with his godson.

 

“It would seem, my Lord, that the Dursleys were more cruel to him than any of us knew.  He had markings on his back that became infected because I didn’t know to treat them.  They are being treated now, but he is currently sick.”  Snape had tensed in his kneeling position, and Remus realized that he was bracing for the pain that would come with the Cruciatus curse.

 

Voldemort breathed out slowly.  “Get up, Snape,” he snapped.  “Before I forget why I didn’t kill you when I found out you were spying on me.”

 

Snape flowed to his feet and dipped into a low bow.  “My Lord is most gracious,” he said, but Remus noticed how very pale he seemed to be.

 

“I am, aren’t I?” The question, clearly rhetorical, received no response.  “Now, I assume that you were in the middle of treating Harry when Dumbledore summoned you?”

 

“I was, my Lord,” Snape said.  “But I left him in Draco’s care, with explicit instructions for the boy.  I knew that reporting to Dumbledore was important, and I knew that you would want to hear of the illness from me in person as well.”

 

Voldemort’s expression darkened.  “You aren’t wrong,” he said.  “But I suggest that you return to Harry.  Lupin and I will be having a long conversation.  I would imagine that he won’t be ready to see Harry for several days, at the very earliest.”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” Severus said.  He bowed low once more, then backed out of the room.

 

The door closed behind him with an ominous thud,  leaving Remus alone with one of the few monsters that frightened him more than the wolf inside of him.  He took a deep breath and hoped that it didn’t show as much as he suspected it did.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The werewolf was rather good at managing to hide his nerves.  It was almost enough for Voldemort to be impressed with him, but not quite.  “You understand that I will require a great many oaths from you before I even consider allowing you near Harry,” he said to the wolf standing before him.

 

It was most amusing to watch the way the wolf’s teeth grit together.  “I hadn’t imagined otherwise,” he finally said, his amber eyes narrowed.

 

Unfortunately, as amusing as it was to watch the wolf trying to conquer his own insolence, it couldn’t be allowed to continue.  That was how pesky things like revolts began, and Voldemort simply didn’t have time for one of those.  Not to mention, the last thing he wanted was for his horcrux to get ideas about noncompliance.  As much as he wanted Harry to be happy and healthy, given what he was to Voldemort, he wanted him alive more than anything else.

 

The idea of any of Lupin’s insolence spreading to Harry was absolutely appalling, considering what it could lead to.

 

Voldemort stood, and watched as the werewolf flinched back with some amusement.  “If I were to tell you that I’ll require you to take my Mark before I even tell you what country Harry is in, what would you say to me?”

 

He watched the wolf close his eyes and breathe in deeply, and then swallow.  “I would do it,” Lupin said.  He said it through clenched teeth, but he said it.

 

“Interesting.”  Voldemort paced until he stood behind the wolf.  “And if I told you that I would require you to join Greyback’s pack, your response would be?”

 

He watched the wolf shudder, a full-body thing that started in his spine and travelled through his body.  “I would do my best,” he said.  “But I cannot promise that I wouldn’t rip his throat out with my teeth.”

 

Voldemort frowned, considering.  “I don’t know that I’m willing to make a decision about you today, Lupin,” he said.  He wasn’t sure when he would be, honestly.  The wolf would take some observation before Voldemort was willing to say one way or another about what he would do with him, whether he would accept him or not as Harry’s potential tutor.

 

“Whatever tests you need me to pass, whatever tasks you need to perform, let me know,” Lupin said.  “I just…”  He stopped himself.

 

“You just?” Voldemort repeated, his tone turning it into a question.

 

“I just want to see him.  To know that he’s alive.”  Lupin breathed out, the sound shaky.  “To know that you aren’t planning on killing him eventually, now that you have him.”

 

Voldemort paced back around the wolf and leaned against his desk.  He tapped his wand casually against his arm and studied him.  Lupin’s head was bowed, his jaw was clenched, but his gaze was unwavering.  Finally, Voldemort smiled, and watched the wolf’s eyes widen in surprise.

 

“I swear to you, Remus Lupin, on my magic, that it is my intention that Harry Potter survive this war, and that he thrive in the life that comes after.  I do not intend to hurt him, and indeed will work as hard as necessary to ensure that I will not have to.”  Voldemort felt the weight of his oath settle on his magic, and was content with it.

 

He would do everything in his power to keep his horcrux healthy, happy, and, most importantly, alive.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Remus hadn’t known what to expect when he’d entered the Dark Lord’s office, but hearing him make an oath on his magic to do his best to keep Harry alive definitely wasn’t it.  He couldn’t even begin to process how genuinely surprised he was to hear those words fall from Voldemort’s lips.  He knew, without even having to think about it, that Dumbledore would never have made such an oath.

 

Remus closed his eyes and bowed his head in what could only be interpreted as a gesture of submission.

 

“I’m going to have you escorted to a set of rooms,” Voldemort said quietly into the silence of his office.  “You will not be under guard, and there is nothing keeping you here.  Consider staying put your first test, and if you leave, do not attempt to return.  You’ll be cut down before you reach the door to the manor.”

 

Lupin dipped into a shallow bow.  “I won’t,” he said quietly.  “Thank you.”  He didn’t imagine, not for a minute, that he would truly be unguarded, or that he would actually escape if he should try to leave.  He knew too much.  He might not know why Voldemort had changed his mind about Harry, but he knew that it was information Dumbledore would very much want to have.

 

The information might someday reach Dumbledore, but it wouldn’t come from Remus.  Not after the oath that Voldemort had just made.

 

The rooms were nice enough, cozy almost, with a bookshelf stuffed full of books.  “At least I won’t be bored,” he muttered to himself as the door closed behind him.  He did test the handle, because he couldn’t quite resist, and the door swung open easily under his touch.  He even stepped into the hallway, and nobody stopped him.

 

He didn’t dare go any further.  He didn’t want to risk losing his chance at seeing Harry for himself.

 

“James,” Remus whispered quietly as he closed the door after stepping back into the room.  “Lily, Sirius, I hope that you would forgive me for what I’m going to do.  Harry’s all I have left, and I have to look out for him.  I’m so sorry.”  

  
He didn’t get a response, but then, he wasn’t expecting one.  He was, after all, alone now.  He just hoped that they understood.


	8. Chapter Seven - Reliant

Harry woke up to find that his back no longer pained him.  He still felt weak, shaky, but his back felt almost fine.  He was on his stomach, resting on the couch.  He thought.  He was still a little bit unclear, like he was seeing the world through some kind of cotton fabric.  He had to blink several times before his eyes would focus properly.

 

“Are you awake?” Malfoy.  Malfoy, of course, had seen him pass out.  Merlin, what would he be thinking of Harry now?  Surely he’d use this as an opportunity to mock Harry, to point out what an idiot he was.  “Harry, are you awake?”

 

“I am,” Harry said hoarsely.  His throat ached, now that he was more aware, and he could feel something that wasn’t quite pain in his back.  It was a strange, tingling sensation that made him shiver in discomfort.

 

“Cold?”  Immediately, a gentle pair of hands draped a soft blanket over his legs, drawing it up just until it hit the edges of his wounds.  That was about the time that Harry realized he’d lost his shirt somewhere in there.

 

“You undressed me?” he squeaked, his eyes widening.  He tried to sit up, but two hands landed on his shoulders, forcing him to stay in place.  “Let me go!”

 

“Severus told me that you needed to rest,” Malfoy said.  When Harry craned his head around so that he could see the blonde Slytherin, his jaw was set firmly in a classic expression of stubbornness.  “He told me not to let you up, and so I’m going to keep you on this couch, Harry.  You need to rest as much as you can so that you can recover from your injuries.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry protested automatically.  The fact was that he wasn’t fine, and he knew it.  His head was already spinning from his aborted attempt at motion.  He couldn’t imagine how bad it would be if he’d actually succeeded in standing.

 

“Uh-huh.”  Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.  “If you’re doing so fine, then you won’t mind explaining to me why you didn’t tell someone about your injuries.”

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t owe you any explanation,” he snarled.  He shifted, considering trying to get up again, but the movement sent a flare of pain down his spine so he stilled once more.  “You aren’t in charge of me.  You’re just here to keep me company, right?”

 

Malfoy’s teeth visibly gritted.  “You’re not wrong,” he said.  “But Harry-”

 

“There is no but,” Harry interrupted.  “I don’t have to talk to you about what happened to me, and I don’t have to tell you why I’m injured.  Right?”

 

Malfoy seemed like he was going to fight him, to argue with him, then he abruptly sighed and deflated.  “You’re right,” he said quietly.  “You were shivering earlier.  Are you still cold?  Do you want me to turn up the temperature in here, see if that helps at all?”

 

Harry frowned.  He hadn’t expected Malfoy to give in so easily.  “I’m still cold,” he said cautiously.  “Can’t you just pull this blanket up around me?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Malfoy said dryly.  “I’ll just pull the blanket up over your open and oozing sores.  That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in weeks.”

 

“There’s no call to be rude,” Harry said with a small flinch.  The air was irritating his cuts a bit, he could feel it, but it wasn’t as bad as having his shirt rubbing against them, or the fabric of a blanket.

 

Malfoy left his side, and Harry heard the air conditioning turn off.  Then Malfoy returned.  “Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

 

There was a small chiming noise before Harry could answer.  “What’s that?” he asked.  There wasn’t anything else he needed, to be perfectly honest.  He was already starting to warm up, and the couch was very comfortable.  If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t have a choice but to lie there, he probably would have been happy to spend a few hours lounging.

 

“That’s the alarm for your salve,” Malfoy said quietly.  “I have to apply it again.  It goes on twice daily, and it’s been several hours since Severus applied the first dose.  Also, if you’re feeling up to it, I have a potion you need to drink.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “What’s it for?”

 

“Severus said it would help to fight the infection.”  Malfoy hesitated, glancing at two jars that Harry now noticed on the coffee table in the center of the room.  “Which do you want first?”

 

“Salve,” Harry said with a sigh.  “It’ll probably hurt, and if it hurts too much my stomach might be… unhappy.  If I take the potion first, it might not go so well.”

 

“That makes sense.”  Malfoy unscrewed the pot of salve and scooped a generous amount of the disgusting-looking greyish green goop onto his skin.  Harry winced at the sight of it.  “I’ll be as gentle as I can, Harry, but I’m sure that there will still be some pain.”

 

“Just get it over with,” Harry snapped.  He braced himself as Malfoy began to apply the salve, only to begin to relax moments later.

 

He could feel Malfoy’s hands on his back, but they moved slowly and gently, as though Malfoy were taking great care to keep from injuring Harry.  Harry wasn’t entirely sure that that was the case, but he appreciated it if it were.

 

He found that his eyes were starting to drift closed.  Harry jerked awake the first time it happened, not wanting to fall to sleep too quickly, but he couldn’t manage to keep himself awake.  When his eyes started to slip closed a second time, lulled in part by the warmth and the lack of pain from his back, and in part by Malfoy’s gentle hands stroking down his back, Harry didn’t even bother trying to keep himself awake.  He drifted off to sleep before he could consider whether it was a good idea or not.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

When he woke, it was to the sharp sound of Professor Snape’s voice.  “What do you mean you haven’t given him the potion yet?” he was snarling.

 

“I mean that he was sleeping, and I thought it was more important to let him sleep than to wake him up and shove a potion down his throat,” Malfoy snapped back.  “I applied the salve for the second time, but I wasn’t about to wake him up if I didn’t have to!”

 

“And when did you become the Potions Master, or the Healer?” Snape snarled.  Then he let out a small noise of frustration.  “Never mind.  I’ll be staying until the boy wakes up myself, this time.  You no longer have to worry about his care.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Malfoy said, his voice shaking slightly.  His breathing hitched.  “I just… I was just trying to do what was best for him.  I didn’t mean to hurt him or anything.”

 

“Oh for… you daft child.  You didn’t hurt him.  I’m certain that he’ll be fine.”  There was a moment of silence, and then the Professor said, “Why don’t you help me carry him to his bedroom?  I’m sure that he’ll rest better there, rather than being out here on the couch.”

 

“Of course, Severus,” Draco said, his voice a bit wobbly.

 

Harry wondered if he’d been crying, or if he was just upset at being scolded.  But he didn’t particularly want to deal with Snape at the moment, or Draco, so he let himself fall back into the welcoming arms of sleep.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

When Harry woke the next time, he was in his room, alone, in the dark.  His back no longer ached at all, even if he did still feel tired and shaky, and when he sat up his darkened room spun around him.  He took a few deep breaths, his eyes closed, and when he opened them the world was blurry, but still.

 

Harry slipped his glasses on, then carefully stood up.  His knees were rather unhappy with that idea, and threatened to throw a revolt and give out on him, but he just waited until he felt slightly steadier on his feet.  Then he carefully walked out of the bedroom, and into the living room.  Snape was in one of the chairs, reading.  Draco… Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

 

When he heard the door, Snape looked up.  “Awake finally, Mr. Potter?” he asked.  His eyebrows were raised and there was a scowl firmly affixed to his face.

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said hesitantly.  His throat was still sore, and as such his voice came out more roughly than he’d expected, and now that he was up and moving he could feel his stomach growling.  How long had he slept the second time? For that matter, how long had he slept each time?  He had no idea.  His stomach was telling him that it had probably been a while, though.

 

“Hungry, I presume?”  The Professor stood and wandered into the suite’s small dining area, where a covered plate was resting in the center of the table.  “You should eat something before I give you this potion.  It tends not to react well to an empty stomach.”

 

Harry sighed.  “Yes, sir,” he said again.  He crossed the room slowly, carefully, his knees still shaky.

 

When he settled at the table, the Professor uncovered the dish.  “It should still be warm.  Preservation charms will have kept it at the perfect temperature for eating.”

 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but that was fine.  Harry wasn’t interested in anything terribly fancy.  It was soup, a hearty vegetable beef soup with several slices of warm, freshly-baked crusty bread.  There was butter for the bread, but Harry didn’t think the butter would be a safe addition.  He wasn’t sure how his stomach was feeling aside from being hungry, so he didn’t think that adding any extra grease would be a good idea.

 

He ate quickly and carefully, and once his bowl and plate were cleared he let out a small, contented sigh.  His stomach no longer ached, nor did he feel the slightest bit queasy.  That was tested, however, when he was handed a vial of potion.

 

“Drink,” Snape commanded.

 

Harry winced.  “Yes, sir,” he said meekly.  He didn’t want to take it, but he knew that it was for his own good.  If there was one thing the Professor had proven to him, it was that he had Harry’s best interests at heart.

 

The potion was every bit as disgusting as he’d assumed it would be, and Harry only just managed to finish it without gagging.  Once he’d put the bottle down, Snape settled in next to him.  “We need to talk,” the Professor said.

 

Harry blinked at him.  “Sir?”  What did they need to talk about?

 

“Draco said that you wouldn’t discuss what happened to your back with him.”  The Professor’s voice was neutral, as though it didn’t matter one way or another, but Harry could sense a sort of underlying tension to his words.

 

“It’s none of his business,” Harry said slowly.  “He doesn’t have any authority over me, right?”

 

Snape sighed.  “Technically no,” he said.  “But, Mr. Potter, I would urge you to be careful when it comes to disclosing information about your health.  The last thing that any of us want is for you to become ill and not to report it, as just happened.”

 

“I thought I was okay,” Harry said.  The protest, however, was weak.  He frowned down at the table.

 

“Mr. Potter… Harry.  If you’re going to attempt to lie to me, you really must do a better job of it.”  There was at least a touch of humor in the Professor’s voice, but Harry knew that he’d messed up.  He should have told someone about the injuries on his back, but he… he hadn’t wanted to admit that he needed help.  When he said as much out loud, Snape let out a small sigh.  “I do understand,” he said, his voice curiously gentle.

 

Harry’s eyes darted up to meet Snape’s.  “You do?” he asked.

 

“My parents…”  Snape shook his head.  “I understand.  But Harry, we’re doing our best to look after your health and safety, and we can’t do that if you don’t report things like this to us.”

 

Harry hung his head.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I’ll try not to do it again.”

 

“Hopefully, this particular issue won’t be one that reoccurs,” Snape said dryly.  “I just… it would be an absolute shame if your primary caretakers didn’t think that they could take your own word when it comes to your health, Harry.”

 

Harry winced.  He hadn’t even thought about that.  How difficult would that be?  If they didn’t trust him, and were constantly checking up on him… it would be a nightmare.  “I’ll do better, sir,” he said, and he meant it.

 

“Good.”  Snape stood, then, his chair scraping noisily back from the table.  “And now, even though you’ve just woken up, I’m afraid that it’s quite late.  I really do believe that I should send you back to bed, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry winced again.  “I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep, sir,” he confessed.  He’d apparently slept the entire day away.

 

“That, Mr. Potter, is hardly my problem.”

  
It wasn’t until Harry was tucked into his bed, by Snape himself, that Harry realized he’d just been sent to bed in what had to be the most mild punishment he’d ever experienced.  He couldn’t help but smile at the realization as he drifted back to sleep.


	9. Chapter Eight - An Unexpected Letter

 

Hogwarts would be starting in less than a week, and Harry didn’t know how he felt about it.

 

Obviously, given that he was still hiding in France with Malfoy, he wasn’t going to be attending.  And, unless he was very wrong, he didn’t think that Malfoy would be attending either.  He thought that he should be more upset about that, more frustrated by the fact that he didn’t have a say in who was looking after him than he was.

 

He wasn’t upset at all, and that was due in large part to Malfoy being completely reasonable.  He took good care of Harry, which wasn’t something that Harry was used to.  Malfoy made sure that he ate, and made sure to apply the salve to his back for as long as Harry needed it applied.  He’d just had the last dose two days ago, and Malfoy had been every bit as gentle every time he’d applied it as he’d been the very first time.

 

It was strange, and Harry couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought that maybe he was almost starting to like Malfoy, possibly as a friend.  He didn’t know what he thought about that.  There was still, in the back of his head, the memory of Ron and Hermione and their betrayal.  He didn’t know that he’d ever get over that, and didn’t know that he could allow himself to be friends with Draco.  He just… he didn’t know.

 

There was a knock on the door from outside that jarred him from his thoughts, then, and Harry froze, the book he’d been halfheartedly reading dropping from his hands.  Draco, who’d been reading on the floor, stretched out on his stomach, stood.  “Stay here,” he said quietly.

 

Draco crossed the room and looked through the peephole of the door, then visibly relaxed.  He opened the door and stepped back.  “Come in, please.”

 

Harry frowned.  Who was it?  Were they expecting company?  He had no idea, honestly.  The Professor could just Apparate straight to the hotel room, so it couldn’t be him.  Who else could it be?

 

Harry didn’t have to wonder for long, as someone stepped into the room.  Whoever it was, male or female, they were tall and slender, and wore solid black robes.  Instead of the traditional Death Eater’s mask, the stranger wore a solid black face covering.  Whoever it was looked eerily like a Dementor, and Harry couldn’t stop his reflexive flinch towards his wand.

 

“Relax,” Draco said.  “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.  This is one of the Dark Lord’s couriers.  They tend to carry information that’s too sensitive to be given by owl, or by Floo.”

 

Harry breathed out.  “He looks like a Dementor,” he muttered.  Then he shook his head.  “And what information does the Dark Lord have for you?”

 

When the stranger spoke, there was something oddly familiar about his voice, but it was nothing that Harry could put his finger on.  He wasn’t certain, but he thought that maybe whoever it was was modifying their voice in some way or another.  “The Dark Lord has sent me with a letter for you, Mr. Potter,” the courier said.  He held out the letter with both hands and bowed over it.

 

Harry blinked.  “For me?”  What could Voldemort be writing to him about?  Harry stood and crossed the room, taking the letter after Draco nodded for him to do so.  “Does he…”  Harry cleared his throat.  “Does he want some kind of response from me?”

 

“I have been instructed to wait for your response,” the courier said with another small bow.  He retracted his hands once the letter had left them and stood placidly, only moving towards the chairs in the common area when Draco directed him to do so.

 

“I guess…”  Harry shrugged.  “I guess I’ll go read the letter and write a response, then,” he said slowly.

 

“Do you need a quill and parchment?” Draco asked politely.

 

Harry nodded.  “Please,” he said.

 

Draco fetched them from his room, then handed the quill, parchment, and ink to Harry.  Harry studied them, and the letter for a long moment, then headed into his bedroom.  There was a desk in there, but he hadn’t used it for much.  He hadn’t really had any need to.

 

He settled at it now and flipped the letter over.  The paper was of excellent quality, thick and smooth between his fingers, and the envelope had been sealed with what looked like Slytherin’s house emblem, but Harry couldn’t quite be certain.  The wax was green, though, and had a slight shimmer that showed in the bright light from the lamp that rested on the desk.

 

With steady hands, Harry opened the letter.  The parchment inside was of just as high a quality as the envelope, and the letter itself was written in what Harry could only describe as utterly beautiful penmanship.  If Harry could say nothing else about Voldemort, he could say that the man had lovely handwriting.

 

He started to read with narrowed eyes.

 

_ My Dearest Harry, _

 

_ I thought long and hard about how to address this letter to you, because I doubted you would be comfortable with any form of address I might choose to use.  And then I realized that you would likely not be comfortable with my letter no matter how I chose to address you, and decided to simply use the address that I most wished to.  If you have another way you would prefer to be addressed, please let me know in your response and I will endeavor to remember your request. _

 

_ I wanted to come visit you, to check up on you personally, but I understand that there is a significant amount of animosity between us.  I would be shocked, though pleasantly so, if you were willing to see me in person.  I certainly don’t blame you if you are unwilling, and I want you to know that. _

 

_ As I stated, I wanted to check on you personally, to make certain that you’d recovered from your bout with injury and to see that you are getting along with the young Malfoy for myself, but I understand that you would likely be uncomfortable with that.  To that end, I chose to send a letter with one of my personal couriers, in the hopes that you might be inclined to write back and let me know if you’re doing well, or if you need anything from me. _

 

_ I assure you, whatever it is that you need, you have but to speak of it and I will see it done.  You have become… immeasurably precious to me, and I would see you well cared for.  To that end, I do wish to know also if you feel as though Malfoy is an adequate companion for you.  I would not wish for you to be lonely, so I am going to insist on someone of your age accompanying you.  If Malfoy is not working out, you need not fear telling me.  I even promise that I will not punish him for failing me, as I am sure that fear of such a thing might influence your tender heart to not tell me the truth. _

 

_ I look forward to hearing your response.  Please take as long as you need to send it.  My courier has been instructed to wait until you are ready to send me your reply. _

 

_ Awaiting your response, _

_ Voldemort _

 

Harry couldn’t help the giggles that escaped him when he finished reading the letter.  He just… it sounded like… he giggled again, and had to put the letter down and cover his eyes so that he couldn’t see it.  It almost sounded like a love letter!  Or a… a something!

 

Harry forced himself to stop giggling and to try to take the matter of the letter seriously.  It didn’t work for several moments, but eventually he managed to calm himself down.  He studied the the letter once more, then took several deep breaths and started to compose his response.  Voldemort had asked him several questions, and he knew that answering them would be a better idea than not.

 

When he finished, he took his carefully crafted letter out to the courier and Draco.  “Do you have an envelope?” Harry asked Draco.  “I don’t have any.”

 

“Of course I do,” Draco said quickly.  He left the room and returned seconds later with an envelope, then waited patiently while Harry stuffed the letter away.

 

Harry handed it off to the courier and said quietly, “Thank you.”

 

“It’s my pleasure,” the courier said, taking the letter with a bow.  He made a small sound, like he was planning on saying something else, but instead Disapparated before he could say anything else, leaving Harry and Draco standing in the room, alone.

 

“Well, that was strange,” Harry muttered.  “Thanks for the supplies.”

 

Draco smiled.  “It wasn’t a problem,” he said.  “Go ahead and keep the quill, ink, and whatever parchment you have left.  I have plenty.”

 

“Thanks.”  Harry hesitated, wanting to say something else, but not really sure what else he could possibly say.  Instead, he headed back to the couch and went back to his book.  He heard Draco take up his old position once more, and smiled a bit.

 

He did like Draco, in spite of himself.  And he thought that maybe he might be okay with that.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort didn’t look up as he called for whoever had knocked to enter.  He did look up when he heard Lupin say quietly, “I’ve brought his response, Lord Voldemort.”  It was the compromise they’d settled on, since Lupin had already told him that he would never address him as his lord.  Voldemort found that he didn’t mind it all that much.

 

“Thank you,” Voldemort said coolly.  “And tell me, are you satisfied now that you’ve seen him for yourself?”

 

Lupin looked strange in the robes of one of his couriers, but it was a role he could see the werewolf taking on if he was interested in it.  Well, it was a role he might have considered for Lupin if it weren’t for the fact that couriers required even more stringent oaths of loyalty than his standard Death Eaters.

 

Lupin’s face, for all that he looked strange in the stark black robes, was relieved.  “Very much so.  Thank you, Lord Voldemort.”

 

Voldemort’s lips quirked into something like a smile.  “I’d say it wasn’t a problem, but honestly, it was.  You should return to your rooms.  I’ll call you when I have need of you.”

 

Lupin bowed, short and just short of disrespectfully, and then turned and left the office.  As the door closed behind him, Voldemort thought that he really was coming along well.  Only a few short weeks ago, Lupin might have forgotten to bow at all.  The idea of him as a tutor for Harry and Draco might just work out after all.

 

Then he turned his full attention to the letter, because whatever Harry had written deserved his full attention.  The teenager’s handwriting wasn’t anywhere near as neat as his own had been when he’d been Harry’s age, but he supposed that was only to be expected.  The boy had likely had far more on his mind than obsessively practicing to make himself perfect.

 

_ Lord Voldemort, _

 

_ Thank you for writing.  I don’t care what you call me, at this point.  I suppose I should, but I don’t.  It’s just… weird, that you’ve changed so much when it comes to your opinion about me.  I’m still used to you trying to kill me, and here you are asking me if there’s anything I want or need to be more comfortable.  It’s… it’s weird.  I know.  I said that already.  Sorry. _

 

_ You’re right that I don’t know how comfortable I’d be seeing you face to face.  I’m…  I’m not sorry if that offends you, actually.  I think that maybe I should be, but I’m not.  I feel how I feel, and I think I’m allowed to feel that way after you tried to kill me as many times as you have. _

 

_ I don’t think that I need anything.  I’m bored, but there’s not really anything I can do about that.  Even learning magic wouldn’t work, since any magic I did would allow the Ministry to find me. And I would guess that I’m here in France because the Ministry is looking for me.  I know that Dumbledore must be. _

 

_ And about Draco… I admit that I didn’t want him here at first, but he’s really grown on me.  He’s been… oddly nice.  I like having him here, more than I liked having Narcissa here.  I guess that means I want him to stay, if he’s okay staying and if you’re okay with him staying. _

 

_ I don’t really know what else I can write here.  So I guess…  I just… _

 

_ Thanks, _

_ Harry _

 

Voldemort smiled and touched the letter with careful fingers, before tucking it away in his desk.  Harry seemed to be adjusting well, and at this stage that was all he could ask for.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Dumbledore was startled by his door bursting open and Alastor stalking into the room.  “I found Lupin!” the Auror snarled, and slammed something down on his desk.

 

Dumbledore stared at the piece of parchment.  It was an Apparition record from the Ministry, something that he… hadn’t realized existed, actually.  “How did you get this?” he asked, frowning at it.

 

“The Ministry started tracking the Apparition of registered werewolves last year,” Alastor said.  “I didn’t approve of it, and neither did you, but I think it’s helped us here.  Because Lupin was forced to register after Snape outed him in the Potter boy’s third year.  So now we know that he left the country earlier tonight, and came back less than an hour later.  Where do you suppose he might have gone?”

 

Albus studied the coordinates.  “Somewhere near Paris,” he said.  “Maybe he was visiting a friend?”

 

Alastor’s smirk was a bit startling.  “Oh, he was visiting someone,” he said.  “I went to the coordinates, and it didn’t take me long to figure it out.  I saw Potter in the hotel, Albus.  He was walking with the Malfoy boy.   I don’t know where they were going or what they were up to, but he’s in the hotel at these coordinates in Paris.”

 

Albus closed his eyes and smiled, tension draining from him.  “Did they see you?” he asked quietly.

 

Alastor shook his head.  “No, sir.  They did not see me, and I came straight back here as soon as I found them.”

 

“Then we go for Harry tomorrow, with the entire Order.  Who knows who else is there with the boy, after all.  It would be foolish to move now, without preparation.”

 

Alastor nodded and turned for the door.

 

Dumbledore called after him, “Good work, Alastor!”  Then he smiled as the door closed behind the ex-Auror.  And to think, he’d just started to resign himself to trying to mold Neville into being a proper Boy Who Lived.  Now he wouldn’t have to worry about that at all.

 

He was going to get Harry back, and the boy would never escape his grasp again.


	10. Chapter Nine - The Knock at the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated tags for this story and take care of yourselves!

 

Harry was tired of being cooped up in the tiny hotel room, even if there were things to do in the hotel that he’d never really had a chance to do when he was with the Dursleys.  There was the pool, for example, and a game room, but really there were only so many times he could visit those places before he grew too bored with them to stand.  Draco was mildly entertaining, at least, and tended to distract him when he was getting too restless with a game of chess.  Which Harry always lost.

 

Harry wanted his broom.  He wanted to be able to fly, safely, without risking being seen by Muggles or by members of the Order.  Who knew how long it would be before he could do that?  Would his time in this hotel last until the end of the war?  The thought was horrifying.  If he couldn’t fly, he wanted at least to practice his magic, to work on Defense or Transfigurations or, at this point, even Potions or Divinations!

 

He hated being locked away like this.

 

Even with Draco’s company, as unappreciated as it had been at first, Harry still couldn’t stop thinking that it felt too much like the Dursleys.  Being locked away was too much like being forced to stay in that awful room where he’d been fed by through the flap his Uncle had installed in the door, and Harry hated it.

 

“We won’t be here for too much longer,” Draco said from beside him on the couch.  The blonde had given up on entertaining him for the evening, as Harry couldn’t even be distracted by a game of Exploding Snap.  The television was on, but even that was having no effect on Harry.

 

“You don’t know that,” Harry said morosely.  They could be here for the rest of the school year, at least.  It was awful, and he hated it. The most interesting thing to have happened the entire time he’d been here, aside from his illness which at least had been something of a distraction, had been the arrival of Voldemort’s courier.  That had been something to hold his attention for a handful of hours.

 

Now he had nothing.  Except for Draco, of course, who didn’t deserve Harry’s bad temper.

 

“I know that the Dark Lord truly wants what is best for you,” Draco said carefully.  “The fact is that wasting away from boredom will do you no good, so he wouldn’t want that.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that it’s impossible to actually die from boredom,” Harry pointed out.  “Otherwise, Binns’ students would have all died a long time ago and Hogwarts would have had no choice but to replace him.”

 

The dry comment startled a small laugh out of Draco, and Harry grinned at the sound.  He’d found, once he’d gotten used to the fact that he was stuck with the blonde, and once he’d adjusted to the idea that he might actually like him as a friend, that Draco’s laugh was a lovely sound.  One of the rare highlights of his day had become startling that noise from his friend.

 

“I don’t know,” Draco was musing.  “Dumbledore always did seem to delight in things that were dangerous.  You remember that detention in our first year?  In the Forbidden Forest?”

 

Harry laughed.  “How could I forget?  You were so afraid!”

 

“Rightfully so!”  Draco thwacked him with one of the throw pillows from the couch.  “It’s not my fault that you’re some kind of perfect Gryffindor who’s never known fear!”

 

Harry sobered.  “I’ve known fear,” he said quietly, all joy taken from his voice.  He shivered and drew his knees up to his chest.

 

“Harry-” Draco began, but stopped.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 

“I know.”  Harry smiled, but now it wasn’t a happy smile.  “You just… you have no idea, what it’s been like to be me for as long as I’ve been me.  It’s awful sometimes.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Draco turned towards him, obviously prepared to talk if Harry wanted to.

 

Harry shivered.  “I don’t think that you want to hear the things that I’ve been through.”  He didn’t think that anyone did, really.  And he wasn’t entirely certain that he wanted to talk about it, anyway.  What good would it do?

 

“I want to hear about anything that you’d like to tell me about,” Draco said.

 

HIs words were warm, and weighty, like they meant something.  Harry found his cheeks flushing entirely against his will, and he didn’t know why.  “Oh,” he said, his voice small.  “Where should I start?”

 

“Wherever you’d like to,” Draco responded immediately.

 

Harry just shook his head.  “I don’t have a clue where to begin.  It’s been…”  He laughed again, still without humor in the sound.  “It’s been rough.”

 

“You could start by telling me what exactly Gryffindor did to steal the House Cup from Slytherin in my first year,” Draco suggested.

 

Now Harry laughed for real.  “That wasn’t even that bad!”  He uncurled and relaxed a bit.  “I mean, I did technically kill Quirrell, but he kind of had it coming.  He was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone for Voldemort, and Ron, Hermione, and I stopped him.”  Harry’s momentary joy disappeared at the memory of his once-friends.

 

“How did Neville get the points?” Draco asked, abruptly, like he was trying to derail Harry’s train of thought.  He probably was.  If there was one thing that Harry had noticed, it was that Draco was very sensitive to Harry’s moods.

 

Harry relaxed again and smiled.  “He tried to stop us from going after the Stone.  He was worried that we were going to get in trouble again, and that we’d lose the Cup because of it.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but just as he was about to, there was a knock at the door.  Draco frowned and turned to stare at the door.  Then he drew his wand.  “Stay here,” Draco said.

 

Harry didn’t move, but did turn around to stare at the door over the back of the couch.  “Is it another courier?” he asked.

 

Draco shook his head.  “If it is, it’s not one that I knew was coming.  So stay there, and be ready to run if I tell you to.”

 

Harry nodded.  “Okay,” he said aloud, when he realized that Draco couldn’t see him nodding.

 

Draco looked through the peephole, then frowned and clutched his wand tighter.  He gripped the doorknob and, before he could open it, the door was blasted from its hinges by a particularly powerful blasting curse.  Draco went flying, and slammed against the wall with a sickening thud.

 

Harry jerked to his feet, his hand going to his wand automatically.  He had it up and pointed at the door, but it did no good.  His wand was jerked from his hand by a powerful “ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” that knocked him off his feet and into the coffee table behind him.

 

Harry’s head swam with the force from which he struck the coffee table, his body aching, and he struggled to regain his feet.  The Headmaster’s face came into focus in front of him before he could manage it, though.  “Auror-class spells are far more powerful than you’re accustomed to dealing with, Mr. Potter,” he said, his voice dry and almost amused.  “The Order is quite disappointed in you.  I’m afraid we’ll have to take some corrective measures at this point.”

 

Harry didn’t even know what that meant.  He didn’t know if Draco was alive, or what was going on.  Before he could find out, the Headmaster raised his wand and everything went dark.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry woke up, his head still fuzzy and his eyes barely able to focus in the soft light of the room.  He blinked several times, but couldn’t quite manage to clear them of the film that seemed to be over them.  He wanted to rub his eyes, but couldn’t, and realized that he was tied to a chair.

 

“Headmaster?” he asked shakily.  He didn’t know who else would be responsible for keeping him tied up like that.  It wouldn’t be Voldemort, not after his change of heart.  At least, he hoped it wasn’t Voldemort.  People were changing sides so much… what if it was?  What if he no longer had any place that might be safe?

 

Harry shivered.

 

“I’m so very disappointed in you, Harry,” Dumbledore said from behind him.  “You ran away, went to Voldemort’s side.  And for what?  Why would you do that?”

 

Harry opened his mouth to tell Dumbledore what Snape had told him, but closed it abruptly.  Maybe Dumbledore didn’t know that Snape wasn’t actually loyal to him.  Maybe… if that were the case, maybe Harry would still make it out of this alive.  Somehow.  If he was lucky.

 

Instead, he asked, “Is Draco okay?”

 

Dumbledore let out a small, amused sound.  “I’m sure that I don’t know.  We didn’t exactly stop to check on him.  But Moody was the one who took him down, and you should know that Moody doesn’t exactly pull his punches when it comes to Death Eaters.”

 

Harry wasn’t all that surprised to find that his eyes blurred with tears at the cold words.  “You killed him?” he asked, his voice small.  It came out choked.  He was having trouble forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

 

“We can’t be sure, but most likely.”  Dumbledore didn’t laugh, but he didn’t sound displeased with the idea.  “And now, Harry, I’m afraid that we’re going to have to engage in some behavioral correction for you.  I can’t just have you running away whenever you feel like it, you know.  What would the rest of the Wizarding world thing, if their savior were to abandon them?”

 

“I never asked to be anyone’s savior,” Harry said.  He flinched when the Headmaster came into view, finally.  It would have been better if Dumbledore had looked like he was going to enjoy what was coming, but instead he just looked… neutral.  Like whatever was about to happen meant nothing.

 

Dumbledore’s smile was thin.  “Alas, Harry, so many things are often asked of us that we never wanted,” he said.  He reached out and patted Harry on the head, like he was some kind of child.  “I never asked to be the one to oppose Grindelwald, you know?  It was just my lot in life, something that fell to me when no one else would do it.”

 

Harry swallowed as the Headmaster raised his wand.  “You can’t…”  He took a deep breath.  “You can’t actually use the Imperius Curse on me, you know.  It won’t work.  I’m immune.  I found it out in fourth year, when Crouch was masquerading as Moody.”

 

“Fortunately, there are so very many other ways of controlling people who are unlikely to cooperate,” the Headmaster said, his neutral expression turning genuinely pleased.  “I’d tell you that this won’t hurt a bit, because you probably won’t feel any physical pain, but mentally… well.  Let’s just say that I’ll be surprised if you’re sane when all of this is over.”

 

The Headmaster raised his wand, then, before Harry could object, and began to chant.  The ritual, for that was what it was, seemed to take forever.  The Headmaster moved around him in a circle several times, his wand in constant motion, his voice lifting and lowering as he spoke the words to the spell.  At one point, someone hooded stepped forward and shoved a potion down Harry’s throat, and at another point, someone else did the same.

 

Harry was powerless to resist it, and even when he tried to spit the potion out he was unsuccessful.  Whatever it was that they were doing to him, he couldn’t stop them, no matter how hard he tried.  It was like he couldn’t quite get his own body to obey him, not while the Headmaster was chanting like that.

 

And then it was over.  The chanting stopped, and the Headmaster stood in front of Harry, a genuine smile of delight on his face.  “How are you feeling now, my dear boy?” Dumbledore asked him.

 

Harry opened his mouth to tell the old man to fuck off, but what came out instead was, “I’m so pleased to be back, sir.  I was really frightened when Voldemort had me captured.  I thought that it was going to be the end of me for sure.”  Harry felt his lips curl into a self-deprecating smile that he couldn’t take off of his face.

 

He wanted to say something, anything.  To tell the Headmaster that it wasn’t true, that he’d felt safe in Voldemort’s care for the first time ever, or maybe even that he wasn’t with Voldemort, but he couldn’t make his mouth work.

 

“I’m so glad to hear that, Harry.”  Dumbledore untied him, and Harry tried to stand up, to run before anything else could happen.  Instead, his body stretched itself out, leisurely, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

 

“It’s good to be back at Hogwarts, sir.  Is there anything you need me to do this year?” Harry heard himself asking.

 

He didn’t bother to listen to whatever the Headmaster had to say in response.  He wanted to cry, felt like he was crying, but his cheeks were dry.  His eyes were unblurred with tears.  Harry screamed inside of his head, but nobody could hear him.

 

His body was his cage, now.  There wasn’t a thing he could do about it, either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we enter the dark part of the story.  It’s going to be a wild ride; I hope you’re all ready for what’s to come. Also, I love how much faith everyone had that there was going to be a rescue. You all had me cackling to myself, because I'm a monster like that.


	11. Chapter Ten - The Missing Horcrux

 

Severus felt the wards around Harry’s hotel room activate, and didn’t hesitate before Apparating there immediately.  He appeared in the middle of the living room and found himself staring, frozen, at his godson who lay immobile on the floor.  His body was skewed awkwardly, like he’d been thrown and just left wherever he’d landed.  The door was shattered, having clearly been burst into from the outside.  And Harry was nowhere to be found.

 

There was other damage done to the hotel room, not just where Draco’s body had collided with the wall.  Severus couldn’t be certain, but he thought that somebody might have thrown Harry into the coffee table.  It was certainly shattered in such a way that it would only be logical.

 

He took a deep breath.  His Lord would need to know about this, but first…  Severus crossed the room to Draco.  The boy was breathing, but his pulse was thready and faint.  There was a pool of blood spreading from under his head, clearly from where it had made impact with the wall.  Severus breathed out, then carefully immobilized the boy so as to not further injure him while he Apparated with him.  Draco needed immediate help.

 

Wherever Harry was, and Severus suspected that he knew the answer to that, he was beyond their immediate reach.  Draco’s health was most important at this point, as he could hopefully provide more answers to the questions that were going to swiftly accumulate.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort’s day was going fairly well, in what was something of a shocking turn of events.  He’d successfully managed to break into Azkaban once more, and now had all of his Death Eaters by his side once more.  Lucius, in particular, was proving to be exceptionally helpful when it came to planning his next move.  They were already discussing possibilities for who their Minister for Magic would be when they finally managed to overtake Scrimgeour.  It wouldn’t be too long now, especially since they had Harry in their possession.  As soon as it came out that the Ministry, and Dumbledore, had lost Harry, well…

 

Nothing could possibly be better for Voldemort’s plans, other than the death of Dumbledore himself.  Which, while it would soon happy due to the curse that had been on the ring, wouldn’t happen soon enough for Voldemort’s taste.

 

He sighed and considered ways of making Dumbledore die even faster.  He found himself doodling little sketches of Dumbledore’s demise on his piece of parchment, which was actually meant for reading.  But budget reports were just… so very dry.  They couldn’t possibly hold his interest.

 

An urgent rapping at his door startled him.  He wasn’t due to have any meetings, and there weren’t any raids happening, so who… “Enter!” he bit out.  The last thing he wanted was to be given bad news, and he had no doubt that whoever was coming had exactly that.  Nobody came to tell him good things, no matter how much he wished they would.

 

Severus entered, a scowl on his face, and dropped immediately to his knees.  “My lord, I have terrible news,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

It was like Severus could already feel the Cruciatus curse that was likely going to be coming his way.  Voldemort drew his wand and twirled it through his fingers.  “Oh?”

 

“Harry’s been taken,” he said.

 

Voldemort had his wand pointed at Severus before he could even really think about it, the spell flowing off of his lips like water.  He released it after only a minute.  After all, logically speaking, Severus couldn’t be held responsible for this.  The real person he had to blame was likely… “And Malfoy?”

 

“Unconscious at the scene.  It looks like he was caught by an Auror-grade stunner as soon as he got near the door.  He… might have some lingering damage due to the severity of his injuries.”

 

Voldemort let out a low hiss.  “Dumbledore,” he snarled.  “It has to have been.  How did they find the boy, Severus?”

 

Severus shook his head.  “I don’t know, my Lord.”

 

“Why didn’t Dumbledore contact you to go get him?”  Voldemort stood up and began to pace, unable to contain himself.

 

“I don’t know, my Lord.”

 

The curse fell from his lips again, and this time he held it for significantly longer.  “What do you know, Severus?  Why do I keep you around?”  Then he thought of something, and his eyes narrowed.  “Or did you know, Severus?  Did you know that Dumbledore was coming for him, and just elect not to tell me?  Have you changed sides once more?”

 

Severus bowed his head, low enough that his forehead almost touched the floor.  “I haven’t changed sides, my Lord.”  He held the position for a long moment, as though he was struggling with himself, and then he sat up and looked Voldemort directly in the eyes.  “You can look into my mind, my Lord.  I’m not shielding from you.”

 

Voldemort didn’t hesitate.  He tore into Severus’ mind, not kindly, and ripped out the information he was looking for.  He had no respect for any of Severus’ privacy, and dug through every memory related to both the Order and Harry.  When he was finished, without any proof of Severus’ treachery beyond that which he’d already admitted to, he breathed out and pulled back from Severus’ mind.

 

Severus’ eyes were closed, blood dripping from his nose.  His brow was furrowed, and Voldemort knew that he would have a headache until he addressed the lingering damage from what he’d just done.  Voldemort didn’t particularly care, one way or another.  “Find him, Severus.  Find out why Dumbledore didn’t contact you.  If you cannot be relied on to spy for the Order, we’ll need to find someone else.  Report to me once you’ve found out.  You’ll find me with the Malfoy boy.”

 

Severus bowed again, once more so low that he could touch his forehead to the floor, then stood smoothly, no hint of weakness from the damages he’d just sustained.  “It will be done, my Lord.”

 

When Voldemort was alone once more, he indulged in a few blasting curses that he threw at his wall.  The destruction pleased him, but did little to sate his rage.  He summoned a house elf to deal with the mess, then stalked from his office.  The Malfoy boy would undoubtedly be with his parents.

 

Voldemort needed to speak with him as soon as he woke up.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus Apparated to the boundary of Hogwarts’ wards and crossed them with a scowl on his face, his head throbbing.  He’d known that Voldemort would be less than pleased that the boy had been taken, but he hadn’t anticipated the level of utter rage that Voldemort had shown when he’d torn into Severus’ head.  The pain had been… immense.

  
Severus shivered at the memory of it.

 

If there was one thing going for him, the evidence of both the Cruciatus Curse and the violent Legilimency attack would prove to Albus that he hadn’t betrayed him.  Or it would as long as Severus leveraged the knowledge carefully, anyway.  And Severus intended to use the knowledge to the best possible effect.

 

He entered the castle with a small sigh.  Even now, even when he truly was in danger at Hogwarts, the castle still felt more like his home than anywhere else ever had.  He’d spent the longest period of his life in safety there, both from his parents and from Voldemort himself.  It was hard to remember that this was actually the more dangerous part of his job, violent rages from Voldemort aside.  At least he could generally predict when those were coming.

 

But Albus…  The Headmaster was cagey, and more clever than most people realized.  If he knew that Severus had betrayed him…

 

Severus shoved the thought aside as he headed for the Headmaster’s office.  He couldn’t even entertain the notion.  It wouldn’t do him any good.  He’d just get himself killed, thinking about his betrayal in front of Albus.  

 

Severus whispered the password to the gargoyle and watched as it leapt aside to reveal the stairs to him.  He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and took the stairs up.

 

Albus was in his office, reading, a small, contented smile on his face.  When Severus collapsed into the chair across from him, Albus looked up, that grandfatherly smile still present.  It dropped as soon as he saw the condition that Severus was in.  “Severus!” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely shocked.  “What on earth has happened to you, my dear boy?”

 

“Voldemort,” Severus croaked out.  “He’s… he’s in an absolute rage, Albus, and I’ve no idea what’s happened.  He’s never battered my Occlumency shields as hard as he did today.”

 

Albus’ face fell.  “I’m so sorry, Severus,” he said.  “It’s why I didn’t tell you what was going on.  I was so concerned that he would find out that you were spying for us when it happened.  But I have excellent news for you.  We’ve found the Potter boy!”

 

Severus forced himself to perk up a bit.  “And where was the brat hiding?” he asked.  He tried to force as much disdain into his voice as he possibly could.  He had to make his distaste believable, and for the first time ever, he thought he might actually have some difficulty with that.

 

“France.”  Albus shook his head.  “Outside of Paris.  I wanted to warn you that Voldemort had him, that we were moving to take him, but I didn’t want to put you in more danger than you’ve already been in.  I am terribly sorry for the pain you went through today.”  Albus’ smile was gentle and sympathetic, but there was still a twinkle in his eyes.

 

Albus was happy to have the boy, and probably wasn’t that bothered by Severus’ injuries.  “Was the boy grateful to be rescued?” Severus asked.  He hoped that Harry hadn’t been, but if he was, if he’d betrayed Voldemort already…

 

Albus sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.  “No,” he said.  “And quite frankly, Severus, I’m concerned that we didn’t rescue him at all.  I think that he might have been there of his own free will.  He was… unhappy that we took him.”

 

Severus let his face fall.  “You think the boy’s gone dark?” he asked, and hoped that he sounded suitably surprised.  

 

“We have him under several powerful compulsions, Severus,” Albus said gravely.  “I had to look up an ancient ritual to bring him under my control, one that hasn’t been used since…”  He laughed, a bit grimly.  “Not since the Founder’s time, not that we’ve been able to find evidence of, anyway.”

 

Severus blanched.  “Because he’s immune to the Imperius Curse,” he breathed.  That… that would be a problem.  If he’d been bound in ritual… there was a chance that he’d never recover.  That if they broke the ritual the boy would go mad.  That he was already mad, and was only constrained by whatever ritual Albus had performed.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Albus said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.  “The boy was always fated to die, since it’s the only way that we can defeat Voldemort.  You know how sad I am about that, and I’d hoped to allow him a bit of freedom until he was sacrificed, but apparently that won’t work.”  Albus looked every one of his years as he spoke, and Severus genuinely believed that Albus had wanted the best for Harry while the boy still had time to be alive.  But that wouldn’t extend to letting Harry survive the war, and Severus couldn’t forgive him for that.  “You should probably let Poppy take a look at you, Severus.  You look terrible.”

 

Severus took the words for the dismissal that they were.  He stopped in to see Poppy because he’d been told to do so, and the last thing he wanted was for Albus to grow suspicious, then left the school once more.  He passed through the wards and Apparated to Malfoy Manor, specifically to just outside of the boy’s room.  If Draco was awake, he didn’t want to startle him, and startling the Dark Lord was never a good idea.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort looked up when the door to Draco’s recovery room creaked open.  Severus stepped inside, his face drawn and eyes tired.  “I have news,” he said simply, not dropping to his knees.

 

Voldemort didn’t care about that, not right now.  “Tell me,” he commanded.

 

“Dumbledore has the boy,” Severus reported, confirming Voldemort’s fears.  “He has the boy, and he’s… he said that Harry wasn’t cooperative.”  Severus swallowed, and Voldemort realized that Severus feared whatever it was that he had to say.

 

He feared Voldemort’s reaction.  That meant that the news couldn’t be good, and was likely far worse than simply mediocre.  “Tell me,” he commanded once more.  “Now.”

 

Severus closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself.  “Harry is immune to the Imperius Curse,” he whispered.  “They’ve done a ritual to bring him under control.”

 

Voldemort’s lips curled into a wordless snarl.  Nearby, a gilded vase with white roses resting inside of it shattered as his magic overflowed.  It didn’t help.  Voldemort closed his eyes and focused on containing his magic, and forced himself not to torture Severus, because this wasn’t his fault.  “Do you know how they found the boy?” he asked through gritted teeth.

 

Severus shook my head.  “I’m sorry, my Lord.”  He sighed and didn’t relax.  It was clear that he thought the torture was still coming.  “The old man didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to jeopardize my position with you when you found Harry gone.  He thought you’d break through my mental shields.”

 

Voldemort’s laugh came out as more of a growl than anything else.  “At least he knows better than to underestimate my fury,” he said with a shake of his head.  “Go.  Keep an eye on the boy.  Do what you can to let him know that you’ll help him if you can, but do not get caught.”

 

Severus nodded.  “Should I take him when I can?”

 

Voldemort wanted to say yes, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.  He didn’t.  Instead, he shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so,” he forced himself to say.  “I need you where you are, and we can’t…  If there was a ritual done, we can’t do anything about it anyway.  Not until we know the ritual, not until we have time to research it.  I’ll… I’ll have someone else working on finding a way to either get the boy out or get my Death Eaters in.”

 

Severus bowed low.  “I understand, my Lord.”  He looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead of doing so, he simply backed out of the room.

 

Voldemort sagged in his chair and buried his head in his hands.  A ritual.  Albus had controlled the boy with a ritual.  Even if they could get him out of this, even if they could recover the boy, there was every possibility that his mind was shattered.  Would be shattered by the breaking of the ritual.

 

Albus had truly broken the boy.  Whatever fire he’d once had…  there was every chance that it would be gone.  Voldemort’s horcrux would survive, of course.  But… but knowing that Harry Potter, the boy who had defied him at every turn for so very long, was very likely dead in all but name, Voldemort was stunned to find himself more disappointed than he’d ever imagined he would be.

 

He truly had liked the boy, and now he was gone forever, even if they did rescue him.

 

In a sense, Dumbledore had won this round.

 

Voldemort’s lips curled into a violent snarl.  That may be so, but it didn’t mean that he had to just surrender.  There was still a chance, if they were lucky, that the ritual could be undone.  He would keep that in mind while he plotted and planned.


	12. Chapter Eleven - Through Harry's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be disturbing for some, given Harry's status as a prisoner within his own body. Please take care of yourselves!

 

Harry spent his first night at Hogwarts, just before the year technically began, in his normal room at Gryffindor Tower.  There were things that he wanted to do that he couldn’t, and it infuriated him.  He wanted to run, to scream, to tell someone that he didn’t actually want to be there, but he couldn’t make his body move.

 

He could do nothing in the morning as his body got up and got out of bed entirely against his will.  His body showered and dressed and ate a normal breakfast, and then reported to the Headmaster.  Harry wanted nothing more than to tell Dumbledore to fuck off, but his body told the Headmaster that he was ready for the school year to start, and wanted to know if he would get to ride the train.

 

Harry didn’t want to ride the train, didn’t want to have to see Ron or Hermione, didn’t want to have to play nice with them.  In a way he was almost grateful for the ritual Dumbledore had done because it wouldn’t be him pretending.  He had the feeling that his body… no.  It wasn’t his body.  He thought that the body would do everything for him.

 

He spotted Snape as they left the Great Hall and the Professor’s gaze just scanned right over him.  It was probably for the best.  The body didn’t seem to be compelled to give Dumbledore any information that he didn’t already have, which meant that the Professor was safe enough for now.  At least until the body decided that Dumbledore needed to know, which might happen sooner rather than later.  He just didn’t know what the body was going to do, and Harry hated it.

 

The Headmaster Apparated with him to Platform 9 ¾, and Harry held out a small amount of hope that Draco would be at the platform, somehow.  That he would spot him, and that everything would be okay because surely somebody would rescue him from this?  Surely someone would see that he wasn’t behaving properly, and would save him?

 

It didn’t happen.  Dumbledore left him with the Weasleys, and Molly took it upon herself to scold him.  “How could you run away from the Dursleys?” she asked Harry sharply.

 

There were many things that Harry wanted to say to her.  Instead, the body lifted its hand and scrubbed at the back of its head in a sheepish gesture.  Harry could feel the strands of hair against its fingers, but he couldn’t make the body stop moving.  “I just had to get away for a while,” it said.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley.  I just…  After Sirius…  You know, I just kind of needed a break.”

 

“You should have told one of us where you were going, you silly boy!”  Still, Molly pulled him into a hug and the body went willingly.

 

Harry ignored the warmth of her touch.  He wondered what she would do if she knew that Harry was bound inside of the body, that he was just a passenger with no control at all.  He wondered if this was what Voldemort felt like when he was attached to the back of Quirrell’s head, wondered if that was why the Dark Lord was so insane.  Because this… this was terrible.

 

The train ride was even worse because he was alone with people who should have been his friends.  People who should have realized that there was something wrong with him, but didn’t.  Ron and Hermione could probably be excused, because they had never really been his friends at all, but what about Neville?  What about Ginny?  He’d saved her life!  But she… she was too happy to have Harry paying her the kind of attention she always wanted from him, although Harry had never really noticed it until now, when he couldn’t control what the body did.

 

“Well, I have to say, I think that time away, as foolish as it was, did you some good,” Hermione was saying about halfway through the train ride.  “It’s like you’re a whole new person.”

 

Harry laughed inside.  A whole new person.  That was, technically, correct.  “Yeah, I know,” the body said.  “I should have told someone where I was going, though.  It was irresponsible of me to just disappear like that.”

 

Hermione sniffed at him.  “As long as you realize that it was irresponsible,” she said.  

 

“But was it a fun adventure?” Ginny asked, leaning against him.

 

The body shifted to make room for her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders like she was its girlfriend.  Maybe she was going to be.  The thought made Harry shudder inside, but the body just rubbed at her shoulder with his thumb.  “It was a fun adventure,” the body said.  “I visited Paris, though I didn’t get to see too much of it.  Maybe I could take you there someday.”

 

“Really Harry?” Ron complained, not looking at the body.  Harry was confused by the response, and the body seemed to be as well.  It must have asked Ron a question, because Ron looked up after a moment.  “Flirting with my little sister in front of me?  Gross, mate.”  There was something wrong with the last word, whether it was Ron’s tone or something else, something half hearted, but Harry couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

The body didn’t notice it at all.  “Sorry, Ron,” it said, taking Ron at his word.

 

The rest of the train ride passed in what passed for normalcy, even though Harry was screaming inside.  He tried to move the body periodically, but managed nothing except for the smallest of twitches.  He wanted to scream, to say something rude to Ginny who was practically in his lap in spite of Ron’s visible disgust, but he couldn’t do anything.  And his attempted twitches were exhausting, and eventually he found himself just… sort of… drifting…

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

He came back to himself in the Headmaster’s office.  The body was no longer hungry, and Harry realized that he’d missed the Feast.  He’d slept through it, or drifted through it, or whatever the proper wording was for what was happening to him.  The body was now sitting in the office with Ron and Hermione, and the Headmaster was across the room from them.

 

“I wanted to know, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, did the two of you notice anything untoward from Harry during the train ride to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked politely.

 

“Other than him flirting with my sister?” Ron asked, a bit snidely.  His lip curled as he stared at the Headmaster, and Harry wondered…  He let the thought go.  Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

 

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmaster responded, a bit more sharply.  “Anything that you would consider to be particularly out of character for the Harry Potter you both know so well.”

 

Harry realized what was happening, then.  Now that the body was under Dumbledore’s control, he was going to sit in on the meetings about the body.  Well.  Wasn’t that going to be so very pleasant.  He almost missed Hermione’s response, given that he was too busy stewing about being stuck like this.

 

“Sir, I didn’t see anything wrong with Harry’s behavior.  May I ask what this is about?” Hermione asked politely.

 

“Harry is now under my complete control,” Dumbledore said.  “Isn’t that right, my dear boy?”

 

“Yes, Headmaster,” the body responded.  “And I greatly appreciate your guidance, sir.”

 

No, Harry really didn’t.  Harry tried to go for his wand, but now he couldn’t even get himself to twitch the way that he’d done before.  Either the ritual’s control over the body was increasing, or his own exhaustion was keeping him from doing it.  It didn’t matter, he guessed.  He was stuck no matter whether he could twitch or not.

 

“Oh, well then.”  Hermione sat back in her chair, and Harry was disgusted to see that she looked pleased.  “I suppose you’ll want to know immediately if he begins acting out of character, as that could be a sign of the control degrading?”

 

“Yes, very much so,” Dumbledore responded.  “I’m not too concerned that it’s going to be a problem, given that the ritual that I used should be permanent, but there might be something that I didn’t account for when I was performing the ritual.  If that’s the case, I’d like it to be brought to my attention immediately.”

 

“That won’t be a problem, Headmaster,” Hermione said with a small nod.  “Was there anything else you needed from us?”

 

“From you, Ms. Granger, not at all.  I still need a moment with Mr. Weasley, though.  He’ll escort Harry back to the Tower so that he doesn’t get in trouble for being out of bounds so early in the year.”

 

Hermione smiled and dispped into a small curtsey before excusing herself from the room.  The body looked toward Ron, and Harry noted that he was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, his position such that it could only be called defensive.  “What?” Ron snapped as soon as Hermione was gone.

 

“You didn’t agree to watch over Harry for me.”  The Headmaster shook his head, and Harry noted that he looked disappointed when the body glanced at him.

 

“Of course I didn’t,” Ron said.  “This is disgusting.  You can’t just do that to someone!”  Ron threw his hand out towards Harry, like he couldn’t contain himself.

 

Harry wondered if Ron really thought that way, and if so, why he’d been reporting on Harry for all his years at Hogwarts.  Spying on him was okay, but watching over his body, which was now entirely out of his control, wasn’t?  Harry didn’t see the logic.

 

“Oh, but I can, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said coldly.  “And I think you should take care, because you didn’t even notice that anything was wrong with Harry.”

 

Ron’s eyes narrowed, and Harry was glad that the body was focusing on Ron because he could watch the redhead’s reactions.  They were a puzzle, and if he could do nothing else while stuck inside of his own head, he could at least work on that puzzle.

 

“You’re threatening me with the same ritual you used on him,” Ron said dully.  He sagged, like all of the fight had gone out of him.  “Am I right, sir?”

 

“I need your trio to remain exactly as it was before Harry’s little excursion,” Dumbledore snapped.  “So yes, Mr. Weasley, if the only way I can get that is to put you under the same ritual that I used on Mr. Potter, then I will not hesitate to do so.  You think your mother would notice, but you didn’t even notice with Harry and you’d been observing him for me for the past several years.”

 

Something flared on Ron’s face, only to fade away before Harry could discern what that something meant.  “I understand, Headmaster,” Ron said stiffly.  “I’ll do my job.  You have no need to worry about me failing you.”

 

The Headmaster’s cold eyes softened.  “Very good, Mr. Weasley.”  He leaned back in his chair, visibly relaxing.  “I’m so glad that we could come to an accord.”

 

Ron muttered something, but the body wasn’t close enough to him for Harry to hear it, or to understand it.  “Me too,” was what he finally said out loud.

 

“Would you be so kind as to escort Harry from my office and back to the dorm?  I’m sure he’ll want the company, since he didn’t get to see you and your family over the summer.”

 

The body immediately perked up.  “Yeah, Ron, it’ll be a nice walk,” it said.

 

“Sure,” Ron said quietly.

 

The walk wasn’t particularly nice for the body, Harry supposed, because it was mostly silent.  He wondered if the body had feelings and thoughts too, wondered if somewhere inside of his head there was another Harry who was confused by Ron’s quietness and didn’t understand what was going on.  He wondered if that Harry was happy to have Ginny’s attention, and was looking forward to probably going on dates with her to Hogsmeade.

 

It hurt Harry’s head, so he stopped thinking about it and instead drifted again.

 

He came back to himself once he was in the dorms again, and he realized that Ron was kicking the other boys out for a few minutes.  Neville and Dean went without protest, but Seamus kicked up a bit of a fuss until Ron promised that he’d buy Seamus a Butterbeer from Hogsmeade on the first weekend that he had a chance to do so.  Seamus left then, disgruntled, but less irritated.

 

“Harry, can you hear me in there?”  Ron’s voice was quiet, careful, and Harry realized that he was being addressed, not the body.

 

“What are you talking about, Ron?” the body asked.  “My hearing’s just fine, you know that.”

 

“I guess you wouldn’t be able to tell me if you could, would you?” Ron laughed, a little sadly.  “Merlin, I never thought he would go this far,” Ron whispered, and shook his head.  “These rituals… they’re so dangerous.  You’ll never come out the same, I don’t think.  There’s a reason that something like this is black magic.”

 

Harry wanted to ask him what he was talking about, to ask him how he even knew that, but the body didn’t care about that.  The body, instead, said, “It’s okay, Ron.  I don’t mind what the Headmaster did.  I know that he’s only done what he had to do, and I’m not angry!  I’m sad that it came to this, that I had to be controlled like this, but I really don’t mind it.”

 

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”  Ron shook his head again.  “You know, I told him to go fuck himself, basically, when he came to me over the summer looking for you.  Even if I’d known where you were at that point, I never would have told him.  I’d really hoped that you would make it out, that you’d get free.  You don’t know how sad I was when I heard that you were captured again.”

 

That made Harry ache inside.  Ron’s words were so kind, but Harry didn’t know that he believed him.  He wanted to, because he wanted to believe that Ron couldn’t have betrayed him like that, not without reason, but he might never know.  The body said, “But I’m glad that the Headmaster saved me!  I was stuck with Malfoy, Ron, you know how awful that would have been!”

 

Ron’s eyes sharpened, then narrowed.  “Was it?” he asked, and then shook his head.  “Never mind.”

 

Harry wanted to tell him that it hadn’t been awful.  That it had been wonderful, even though he hadn’t gotten along with Draco at first.  By the end, he thought that he’d been genuinely happy to be with Draco, rather than to be stuck by himself.  Draco had been… and now he might be dead.  And Harry would probably never know, because he knew that once his job was over Dumbledore was going to get rid of him.  There was no way he’d ever be released from this compulsion.

 

He felt a warm hand touch the body, and the body’s eyes jerked down to where Ron had taken his hand.  “I’m going to try and get you out of this.  I’m sure the Headmaster knows that I’m thinking like that, so it’s really not a problem if you tell him that.”

 

“I don’t want to be free of this,” the body said.

 

Harry tried as hard as he could to make his fingers twitch, to tell Ron that he really did want to be out of this, because he was so afraid that Ron would believe the body.  He must have managed it, because he saw the body’s fingers twitch, felt Ron’s hand close on his own.

 

“I’ll do it anyway,” Ron said.  “Somehow.  Even if you never forgive me for spying on you, I’m going to do what I can.”


	13. Chapter Twelve - Spy

 

Draco woke up, his head throbbing, Harry’s name on his lips.  “Harry, run!” he shouted, sitting up.

 

“A lovely sentiment, Malfoy, but alas, it’s one that’s been delivered far too late.”  Voldemort’s voice rang out beside him, and Draco flinched and braced himself.

 

He’d failed in his assignment.  He’d let Harry be taken.  He was going to be tortured and killed.  When no pain was immediately apparent, Draco turned to look at Voldemort.  The Dark Lord was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.  He looked… concerned.  Of course he was.  Harry was gone, and who knew where he’d gone?

 

“Do you know…”  Draco swallowed.  “I mean, I saw Moody, before I was knocked unconscious.  I’m sure that Dumbledore has him,” he whispered.

 

Voldemort looked at him, now, actually focusing on him.  If Draco wasn’t very mistaken, he thought he detected a bit of amusement in the Dark Lord’s gaze.  “We’re aware,” he said dryly.  “You’ve been unconscious for almost a week.  Hogwarts has started, and Harry is attending, the perfect lion of Gryffindor.  You might never know that he’d run away.”  This last was said with audible disgust.  The Dark Lord shook his head, looking like he’d swallowed curdled milk.

 

Draco flinched.  “He didn’t…”  He’d thought that they were becoming friends.  He’d thought that Harry had truly begun to see that Dumbledore didn’t have his best interests at heart, and he’d thought that Harry… he’d just… he’d thought.  But apparently… not.

 

Voldemort looked up sharply.  Then he let out a small, bitter laugh.  “You’ve been unconscious,” he muttered.  “I forgot.  He’s under a binding.  Dumbledore performed a ritual to bind Harry to his will.  Harry has no control over his actions at this point.”

 

Draco couldn’t help the pained cry that escaped him.  “A ritual?” he repeated, incredulous.  How could anyone be so cruel?  There was a reason those sorts of rituals had been banned by the Ministry centuries ago.  If Voldemort was right, and Draco couldn’t imagine that he was wrong, Harry would… never recover, most likely.

 

“A ritual.”  Voldemort’s smile was more angry than anything else.  “We need to get to him, and we probably need to take Hogwarts as well, if only to find the ritual that Dumbledore used so that we have the best chance of countering it without damaging Harry.”  And then, sarcastically, like Voldemort didn’t believe it to be possible, he asked, “Any ideas, Mr. Malfoy?”

 

Draco exhaled.  “Actually, yes,” he said quietly.  He took a deep breath and explained his thinking to Voldemort, whose hairless brows rose higher and higher with every word.

 

“Do you think that you can pull it off?” Voldemort asked when he’d finished.

 

Draco shook his head and shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.  “But I think that I have to try.  Harry was under my care when he was taken, and I…”  He took a deep breath.  “I will never forgive myself if we can’t get him back.  So I want to try.”

 

Voldemort nodded slowly.  “It might work,” he said quietly.  “How’s your Occlumency?”

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed.  “Would you care to test it, my Lord?” he offered.  It was good, he knew that.  As though his godfather would allow him to go anywhere with his mind wide open to any kind of intrusion.

 

Voldemort’s eyebrow ticked up once more.  “Don’t take that tone with me, child,” he snapped.  “I still haven’t forgotten that it was under your watch that this happened in the first place.  It’s only the fact that nobody could have been prepared for Harry to be taken that’s getting you out of trouble.”  Then he hesitated, and Draco was surprised when the Dark Lord added, “And the fact that you’re the only one to come up with a halfway viable plan certainly isn’t hurting.”

 

Draco sagged.  “I’ll get you in to the castle, my Lord,” he promised.  “You, and every single one of the Death Eaters.  I just have to figure out how.”

 

“Then we’ll get you checked over, now that you’re awake, and then you’ll go on your way.  I’ll set things in motion for tonight so that you can provide the information.  And Draco?”  Voldemort paused, as though waiting for Draco to give him his full attention.  “If you fail, you’d better never leave the castle.  You won’t survive it.”

 

Draco bowed his head in acknowledgement.  “I won’t fail you, my Lord,” he promised.  He wouldn’t fail Harry.  

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Remus paced his room.  Harry was back under Dumbledore’s control, and via ritual no less.  It was the worst possible outcome for all of this.  Remus would have rathered anything else for Harry, even death.  This was just… it was just cruel.

 

He’d destroyed his rooms once already, and had everything replaced without a single word from the house elf who did it.  He wanted to do it once more, especially as moonrise was approaching, but knew that it would do him no good.  He was too angry, too furious, and nothing would sate his rage at this point aside from…  aside from doing some actual damage.  Even after taking Wolfsbane, the rage he felt was almost maddening.  He couldn’t imagine how much it would intensify when he actually transformed.

 

There was a knock on his door, and Remus stilled briefly.  He could smell… oh, no.  No, that wasn’t happening.  He didn’t go to the door, didn’t bid the monster on the other side enter.

 

“I know you’re in there, pup,” a low voice growled to him.

 

Remus remained silent.

 

“You’re angry,” the growl continued.  “If there’s an emotion I understand, pup, it’s anger.  You’ll hurt yourself if you stay in there tonight, even with that poison you take each full moon.  You need to run with us tonight.  You need a pack, pup.”

 

Remus wanted nothing more than to give in.  To open the door, to go and run with the monster who’d turned him into this in the first place.  But…  But he wasn’t…

 

Why wasn’t he, at this point?  This wouldn’t help Harry, he knew that, and Siri would probably never forgive him, but Siri would also never forgive him if he killed himself in his rage in his werewolf form.  And with as angry as he was, there was every chance that he would do just that.  Fenrir Greyback was right.  He couldn’t stay in his room, not tonight.

 

He jerked his door open and glared at the alpha werewolf.  “Where are we going?” he growled, and tried not to hate himself.

 

It didn’t quite work.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco made it to the edge of the wards at Hogwarts, and only a few steps further when the Headmaster appeared before him with a loud, resounding crack.  Apparently the Headmaster was capable of Apparating within Hogwarts’ boundaries.  That was a good piece of information to know, and Draco made note of it in his head.

 

But he didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment.  Instead, he focused on looking frightened, on looking tired and cowed and broken.  “Sir,” he whimpered, and dropped to his knees.  “Please.  Don’t hurt me.  Just let me talk!”  He curled his arms around himself, like he was trying to comfort himself.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, my dear boy, please get up.  I’m not going to hurt you.”  The Headmaster’s voice was low and soothing, and his touch on Draco’s shoulder was deceptively gentle.  Like Draco didn’t realize how very dangerous he could be when provoked.

 

That was fine.  Draco allowed himself to be drawn to his feet.  “Sir,” he started, then stopped as though he were ashamed of what he was going to say.  “Please,” he finally said again.  “I know that I’ve…”  He rubbed at his arm, just over his Dark Mark, like he was pained by it.  “I’ve done something terrible.  And I…  I’m so frightened, sir.”

 

“Tell me more, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore suggested.  “What are you frightened of?”

 

“Dying!” Draco snapped, letting his voice go shrill.  “You… when you came for Potter, you and yours, I could have died!  And the Dark Lord didn’t even care!  I know… I know it’s not the most selfless reason you’ve ever heard, but I… I’m young, sir.  I don’t want to die!”

 

Dumbledore laughed, like he couldn’t quite help it.  “Nobody wants to die, Mr. Malfoy,” he said.  He stared at Draco, and Draco made absolutely certain that his Occlumency shields were both holding and looked like they weren’t as he met the man’s gaze.  “You want sanctuary from Hogwarts?”

 

“I don’t…”  Draco swallowed and looked down.  “Like I said, sir, I don’t want to die.  And I know that I’m not a good person, and I’m sorry that I can’t say that I’ve had a huge change of heart, but that’s the truth of it.  I won’t lie to you.  I…  I promise that I’ll do whatever you want.  I’ll make nice with the Mudblood Granger, I’ll… I’ll donate all the Malfoy money to charity, whatever you want!  I have information for you!  There’s a raid tonight, the Death Eaters are going to strike-”

 

Dumbledore’s laugh this time seemed more genuine.  “There’s no need for that, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, his lips still curled into a smile.  “While I would very much like you to reconsider your notions of blood purity, and of course I’m interested in the information about the raid, I understand that it isn’t easy to reject a lifetime of indoctrination.”  He patted Draco on the shoulder, a gentle, grandfatherly touch.  “I will allow you to return to Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy, on a probationary status.  If you should be caught in a lie-”

 

“I won’t be,” Draco promised fervently.  “Headmaster, thank you so much!  I promise that you won’t regret letting me stay.  I’ll work on my thoughts about blood purity, I swear I will!”

 

“I’m sure that you will,” Dumbledore said, the twinkle in his eyes appearing.  “Now come, you’ve missed the entire first week of classes.  Let’s get you settled in as quickly as possible so that your life can start to go back to normal.”

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus was startled by the face appearing in the portrait on the inner wall of his living room.  “The Headmaster requests entrance,” the portrait said quietly.

 

“Of course,” Severus said with a bow of his head.

 

Albus entered immediately, a small, smug smile on his face.  “Tell me, Severus,” he started.  “How do you think the Malfoy boy responded to the attack on the hotel?”

 

Severus frowned.  He’d still thought that Draco was unconscious, but apparently that wasn’t the case.  “I’m not sure, Albus,” he said honestly.  “He was probably quite frightened by it.”

 

“And tell me, do you think that if he was frightened enough, he might just be genuine in his request for sanctuary from Hogwarts?”

 

Severus’ eyebrows hit his hairline.  He’d never even thought… but of course the boy was a good choice for getting another Death Eater into the castle.  He even had the perfect excuse, that he’d been terrified after he’d almost died.  He briefly wondered whose idea it had been, because he knew for certain that it wouldn’t have been Narcissa’s or Lucius’, but discarded the thought.  He couldn’t focus on that with the Headmaster in front of him, waiting on a response.

 

“I think that it might very well be genuine,” he said slowly, like he was still considering it.  “I think that we should certainly keep an eye on him, but I think that he might very well be having a change of heart.”

 

Albus smiled.  “I’m glad to hear that, Severus,” he said.  “I’ll leave you in charge of watching the boy, since I know how seriously you’ll take it.  And if the boy comes to you, I’m sure that I can count on you to council the boy through his doubts.”

 

“I’ll do my best, Albus,” Severus said with a bow of his head.  And he would, though probably not in the way that Albus intended.  Not that he thought that Draco was going to have any doubts.  Draco, as far as Severus knew, was unwavering in his faith.

 

“I knew that I could count on you, Severus,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling.  He left Severus’ room, and Severus couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.

 

It astounded him, sometimes, that Albus still trusted him in spite of all of the evidence that Severus wasn’t actually on his side.  He supposed he should be grateful, and he was, but he couldn’t help also being wary.  One slip, and he knew that not only would he no longer be trusted, but he knew that he could get several people killed.  And now that number included Draco.

 

This was fine.  He was more than capable of continuing to walk this path.  He’d done it for years, and Albus wasn’t nearly as paranoid as Voldemort was.  If there was one critical failing within Albus, it was the fact that he genuinely did want to believe the best of people, whether there was evidence to the contrary or not.

 

Severus would be certain to exploit that weakness to its fullest potential, as long as it would get the people he cared about out of this mess in one piece.


	14. Chapter Thirteen - The Puppet

 

Ron hated the puppet that Harry had become.  He was perfect in every way, a flawless copy of what had once been Harry’s casual bravery and good nature.  But he just… knowing that it wasn’t Harry…

 

He’d always thought that his best friend was a genuine hero, was someone who deserved his respect.  He’d hated spying on Harry for Dumbledore, had sort of hated that it was the only way that his parents could afford to send him to Hogwarts at all.  When Percy had graduated and their fourth year had begun, Ron had tried to stop.  He’d tried to distance himself from Harry, admittedly in one of the worst ways possible, but two things had happened: he’d broken Harry’s heart, visibly so, and Dumbledore had threatened to use his sister as the new spy.

 

That would have broken Ginny, Ron knew that.  She had no idea of the maneuverings that were going on behind Harry’s back, behind her back.  Ron knew that his mother wanted Ginny to marry Harry, no matter what it took for that to happen.  A small, mean part of Ron wondered if that was part of the reason that Dumbledore had Harry under compulsion, since now Harry was… cuddling with his sister on the couch.  He’d never shown any interest in her before…

  
Was that just another way for Dumbledore to control him?

 

“This is disgusting,” Ron muttered to Hermione, who was also watching them.

 

“What’s disgusting?”  She didn’t lift her eyes from her book, clearly engaged more in her advanced Herbology text than in what Harry was stuck doing with Ginny.  Thankfully, his sister hadn’t taken up kissing Harry yet.

 

“Don’t you care what’s happening to Harry?” Ron asked, his voice a low hiss.  He didn’t want to be overheard by anyone, after all.

 

Hermione’s book snapped closed and her jaw jutted out in a scowl.  “Is this really an appropriate place to be having this conversation?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

 

“Are you willing to have it with me anywhere else?” Ron retorted immediately.  “Because if you’re not, then I suppose it doesn’t matter where we talk about it.”

 

Hermione just made a tsking sound, shook her head, and opened her book once more.

 

“It’s basically rape, Hermione,” he pointed out.  Shouldn’t that bother her?  Hermione was all about combating injustice wherever she found it.  Shouldn’t the injustice being done to Harry make her feel something more than indifference?

 

“Basically isn’t the same thing as actual,” Hermione said.  “Besides, she hasn’t had sex with him, and I know she doesn’t plan to until they’re married.  She wants to be pure for him.”

 

Ron gritted his teeth.  “But Hermione,” he started.

 

She cut him off with a toss of her head.  “Sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, Ron, and you should learn to understand that.  Harry is one person.  Voldemort will kill thousands, if not millions, if he conquers the world.”

 

“I get that,” Ron muttered.  And he did get that, really he did.  He just… he couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t any better.  Yes, the strategist in Ron could see why Harry needed to fight for the Light.  He didn’t like it, but he understood why it was necessary.  He just… this wasn’t necessary.  This part of it, dating Ginny.

 

To Ron, that felt more vindictive than anything else.  Harry had never shown any interest in his little sister before this, so it wasn’t like Dumbledore was giving him one last chance at happiness before he died.  It was just cruel, Ron thought.

 

But it was clear that Hermione disagreed, and Ron gave up on trying to convince her.  He was well-aware of how difficult it was to change Hermione’s mind once she’d gotten onto a subject.  So instead of trying, he stood up and crossed the room, to where Ginny and Harry were cuddling on the couch.

 

Ginny’s stare, when he loomed over them, was venomous.  “Go away, Ron,” she hissed.  “Can’t you see that Harry and I are in the middle of something?”

 

“I can see that you and Harry are in the middle of something that Mum might not approve of,” Ron shot back.  “Especially since you’re sitting in public.  Harry, mate, wanna play a round of chess?”

 

Harry’s eyes went vague for just a second, something that Ron never would have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.  “Yeah,” he said, bright and cheerful.  “Chess sounds great, Ron.  And Ginny, we could go to Hogsmeade next weekend?”

 

Ginny’s blush would have been adorable if Ron didn’t know that it wasn’t really Harry making the offer.  “I’d like that,” she said, beaming, and slipped off of the couch.  As she passed Ron, she said, “You know that I’m going to marry him, no matter how much you interfere.  Mum’s arranged it with Dumbledore.”  Before he could respond, she’d left the room.

 

Ron’s heart dropped.  Did she know?  Did that mean that she knew that the Harry she cuddled with was just a puppet?  The thought made his skin crawl, even as he set up the chess pieces.  He started the game with Harry and tried to figure out what he was going to do.  If Ginny knew what had been done to Harry, if she was dating him anyway…

 

Ron didn’t know when his sister had become such a monster, but he’d never look at her the same way again.

 

It wasn’t until halfway through the game that Ron realized that he was actually losing, because this Harry was actually good at chess.  It wasn’t much, but it was something that Dumbledore had gotten wrong.  Ron wondered if there was any significance to it, and then he shoved the thoughts to one side.

 

It didn’t matter, if that was the only thing that Dumbledore had gotten wrong.  It wasn’t like many people knew how bad Harry was at chess, anyway.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Malfoy returned to school on the first Friday of the year, looking pale and shaken.  The entire Hall fell silent when he walked in, and Malfoy, shockingly, didn’t take advantage of the limelight.  He just shrunk in on himself, and looked almost hunted.

 

Ron almost felt sorry for him.

 

The Headmaster clearly took note of the notice that Malfoy was garnering, stood, and cleared his throat.  When all eyes turned to him instead, Ron noticed that Malfoy practically scurried to sit with the other Slytherins, who welcomed him back with great dignity.  They weren’t surprised, but then, they wouldn’t be.  He’d probably arrived last night.

 

“As you can all see, Mr. Malfoy has returned to Hogwarts,” the Headmaster announced, his voice grave.  “I’m afraid that he’s had a bit of a rough experience, so I ask that you all be kind to him when welcoming him back to the school.  And perhaps you should all give him something of a second chance, since I’m quite certain that you’ll find him a changed man.”

 

Right.  Malfoy, changed.  Ron would believe that when he saw it.

 

He wondered where Malfoy had been, what he’d been up to after Harry had been recaptured, and found himself unable to stop wondering.  Malfoy looked… tired.  Worn down, like he was desperate.  Desperate men, Ron believed, were dangerous.  There was never any telling what they were up to, and he suspected that he wanted to know what Malfoy was up to.

 

Especially since, when they got up after breakfast, Malfoy half-stood as well.  He looked like he was considering walking towards them, but he glanced at the head table and sank back down into his chair with drooping shoulders.  As Ron watched, Malfoy picked up a fork and started to toy with the eggs on his plate.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he was the only one who noticed that the fork Malfoy was using never actually rose to his lips.

 

Something was going on with him, but Ron forced it out of his mind.  He was worried about Harry, and couldn’t worry about Malfoy right now.  He didn’t even like the other boy, so why should he care what was wrong with him?  Unless it was going to affect Harry, either by making things worse for his friend or by fixing him, Ron didn’t have time for it.  And he couldn’t imagine that Malfoy had any interest in fixing Harry.

 

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Harry had been with Malfoy for at least part of the summer.  He brushed it aside.  He had no idea how that had gone, and Harry couldn’t exactly tell him the truth about it.

 

Malfoy couldn’t possibly want to help Harry, Ron knew that to be true.

 

Then came Potions, the first and only class that Gryffindor had with Slytherin this year, and the first time that Malfoy got close to them.  Ron wasn’t expecting much of anything, much less for Malfoy to step forward and breathe Harry’s name while Hermione was still outside, talking with Neville about something.

 

“Did you need something, Malfoy?” Harry asked coldly.

 

Ron watched Malfoy’s face fall, and then watched as a mask of neutrality fall over the blonde’s face.  “Just sad to see rumors of your demise were exaggerated,” Malfoy said, just as coldly, before going to his old seat, next to Daphne Greengrass, who placed a gentle hand on his arm and squeezed.

 

Malfoy may be pretending to be unaffected by Harry’s coldness, but Ron had seen.  He’d seen Malfoy’s face fall, had seen the pain in his eyes, and he wondered.

 

Had something happened between Harry and Malfoy during the summer?  Had Malfoy become a friend to Harry, somehow?  All evidence pointed to yes.  Ron supposed he should report that to the Headmaster, assuming the old man didn’t already know, but…

 

But no.  Not if there was a chance that he could use Malfoy to get Harry out of this.  Ron supposed that just watching for a bit wouldn’t hurt anything, would it?

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

It happened for the first time on the second Thursday of the school year, when Ron, Hermione, and Harry were sitting around in the library.  Hermione was studying for an Ancient Runes paper that had already been assigned, while Harry skimmed through a Defense book.

 

Ron, on the other hand, was just watching the two of them.  He was pretending to read another book on Defense, but it wasn’t holding his attention.  Instead, he watched as Harry went to make a note of something he’d read in the book when Harry’s hand twitched out of control, the quill going flying across the page in a messy scrawl.

 

Ron could only just read the word that was written, a shaky and messy  _ help _ before Harry’s hand twitched again and the jar of ink spilled all over the page and all over the table.  Hermione jumped up as some of it landed on her, and she turned accusing eyes on Harry.

 

“You need to be more careful,” she said, chiding.  And then she noticed the parchment, and her eyes narrowed.  The word was mostly covered by the ink spill, but it was still legible.  “Oh, Harry,” she said, and there was something aching and sympathetic in her voice.

 

“Is the ritual losing its effect?” Ron asked, a bit shakily.  He hoped so.  Merlin, he hoped so.  Harry didn’t deserve to be caged like this.

 

“If it is, we’ll have to tell Dumbledore,” Hermione said with a shake of her head.  “Harry can’t be trusted on his own, Ron, you know that.”

 

Ron opened his mouth to protest, to point out that there was no need to tell Dumbledore of anything, not after one small incident, but he knew that Hermione wouldn’t agree with him and would just go to Dumbledore anyway.  And protesting would just mean that Hermione would report it to Dumbledore, and Ron would be put in a similar situation.

 

He sighed.  “Right,” he muttered, and looked down at the spilled ink that Harry was mechanically cleaning up.

 

When they escorted Harry to the Headmaster’s office, the man was gravely concerned, and Ron got to watch in horror as the ritual was performed to bind Harry once more.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that he could see Harry, the real Harry, behind the puppet’s eyes.

 

Harry was screaming, and Ron couldn’t hear him.  His lips weren’t even twitching.

 

Ron couldn’t be sure, but he was almost positive that he hated Dumbledore in those moments.  He looked at the old Headmaster, who he’d once seen as a benevolent, well-intentioned old man, and thought that he might actually be worse than Voldemort.

 

And he looked at Hermione, who was so self-righteously superior, and wondered if maybe Voldemort didn’t have the right idea about muggleborns, too.

 

That frightened him, because he knew that Hermione wasn’t representative of all muggleborns, and knew that he didn’t actually want them all to be exterminated.  He was just so angry, and didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

 

In some ways, even though he was technically free to do as he pleased, Ron thought that he might be just as imprisoned as Harry was.


	15. Chapter Fourteen - Options

 

Draco had thought that he was prepared to see what had become of Harry, but he really hadn’t been.  The way that Harry stared at him like he was a monster, the way that he’d spoken so coldly…  Draco hadn’t realized how much Harry had changed during their brief time in France until just now, when he was confronted with a version of Harry far closer to the old one.

 

He forced himself to not react to the way Harry responded when he tried to speak to him, and told himself not to be angry or offended.  After all, it wasn’t Harry in control anymore, was it?  It was Dumbledore, essentially, thanks to whatever ritual the old man had done.

 

He kept his head down for the rest of the day, not willing to risk drawing any suspicion on himself.  Really, he knew that he shouldn’t have approached Harry at all, but he’d been unable to stop himself.  He’d sort of hoped…

 

He’d hoped that Harry would take one look at him, his friend, or at least his almost-friend, and would come out of whatever spell he was under.  He couldn’t help but laugh at his own stupidity.  What kind of ridiculous, fluffy, Hufflepuff notion had that been?

 

He returned to his common room after classes, still keeping his head down.  He didn’t even know where he was going to start when it came to getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.  He’d been so confident that he could handle it, but now that he was actually in place, the enormity of his task… To say that he was finding it overwhelming was something of an understatement.

 

“You look a little green, Draco,” Daphne said from one of the couches, where she lounged without a care in the world.  “Anything I could help you with?”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow.  “Since my problems are slightly more difficult than what clothes I’ll wear to my father’s next ball, I doubt that there’s anything you can do for me.”

 

Daphne just rolled her eyes and went back to reading her fashion magazine.  “Whatever, Draco,” she sang.

 

Draco headed up to the dorms and flung himself onto his bed, making sure to look like the picture of adolescent angst.  He closed his eyes and ignored Zabini when he attempted to speak with him, and ignored Crabbe and Goyle as well.  While he was ignoring them, he considered his options.

 

Before he’d gone in, the Dark Lord had told him of a place called the Come and Go Room, which might offer him a handful of viable options.  If nothing else, it was a place to start, and Draco wanted to get started sooner rather than later.  Leaving Harry in Dumbledore’s clutches when he was under compulsions that could force him into that level of compliance…

 

Draco shivered and curled up into a ball.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t go out searching for the room when his fellow Slytherins were awake and moving around.  They would notice his absence and, whether they intended to or not, word would surely reach Dumbledore of Draco’s absences.  And then he’d be caught as a spy, and all of this would be for naught.  He’d never be able to get Harry free if he got caught so quickly.

 

“Mr. Malfoy.”

 

The sharp voice startled Draco, and he sat up quickly.  Severus stood in the door to the dorms, his face drawn and pale.  “Professor?” Draco asked, and swallowed.  The expression on Severus’ face wasn’t a happy one.

 

“The Headmaster would like to see you,” Severus said.  “And before you ask me, no, I don’t know what he wants from you.”

 

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “Yes sir,” he said, and stood.

 

He followed Severus from the dorms, from the Common Room, and up to the Headmaster’s office.  The old man was sitting at his desk, reading over a piece of parchment with narrowed eyes.  When Severus had Draco sit, Dumbledore didn’t even look up.

 

“Shall I stay, sir?” Severus asked, his voice bland.

 

“No, Severus,” Dumbledore said, and finally looked up.  He offered Draco a thin smile.  “There will be no need for that.  I’ll have Mr. Malfoy returned to his common room within the hour, I assure you.”

 

Severus dipped his head in a nod and slipped from the room, leaving Draco alone with Dumbledore.

 

He took a deep breath and sat up as straight as he could.  “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.  His voice shook a bit from nerves, but that only made sense.  Of course he’d be nervous, getting  called before the Headmaster like this.  It had nothing to do with the fact that he really was at Hogwarts under false pretenses.

 

“You spoke with Harry earlier today,” the Headmaster said, the twinkle fading from his eyes.  “Mr. Malfoy, I accepted you here at Hogwarts under very clear conditions, and I’m concerned that your very first move was to approach a young man who has every reason to be traumatized by the sight of you.”

 

Draco dropped his gaze.  “I’m sorry,” he said, and stared at his hands.  They were shaking, but it was more with rage than with fear.  The Headmaster couldn’t know that, though.  “I just… I guess I wanted to see for myself that he was okay,” he said.  He swallowed and dared to glance up, but looked back down upon meeting Dumbledore’s frown.  “That I didn’t hurt him.”

 

“You didn’t,” Dumbledore said.  “But you should have asked me that, rather than going to Harry himself.  You should know that he doesn’t want anything to do with you at this point, and has in fact asked me to intercede on his behalf.  You two are not friends, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

The words hurt, even though Draco knew,  _ knew _ that Harry hadn’t been the one to speak them.  Or, if he had, it hadn’t actually been of his own free will.  Who knew what those rituals were doing to him, what things they were making him do?

 

“I understand, sir,” Draco said, his voice soft.  He didn’t even have to try to sound sad.  “I guess… I’d just wanted to be his friend for so long, sir, that I’d sort of hoped that maybe the friendship we’d started to form in France might continue here in Hogwarts.  I didn’t even think about how he might see the friendship.”

 

“He doesn’t see it as a friendship,” Dumbledore said, and now his voice had softened.  “I’m sorry to have to be the one to inform you of that,” he added, and sounded like he did genuinely regret it.

 

Draco swallowed and nodded.  “I won’t try to approach him again.”  He looked up, and tried out an awkward looking smile.  “I promise, sir.  But…”  He hesitated, and looked down again.  “Could you convey to him my regrets?  I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.”

 

“I will do that, Mr. Malfoy.”  The Headmaster stood, and walked to his office door.  “And, Mr. Malfoy?”  He waited until Draco had stood, until he was looking at him.  “Please do be careful.  I would hate to have any reason to suspect that you’re here under false pretenses.  It would be a shame if I found out that you weren’t sincere in your repentance.”

 

“I’ll be more careful, Headmaster,” Draco said, and kept his gaze lowered.  He left the Headmaster’s office with the feeling that he’d only just escaped with his life, even though he was convinced that Dumbledore couldn’t possibly be on to him.

 

He would have to wait a few days before he could really start looking for solutions, now.  He couldn’t risk being caught potentially making trouble so soon after this most recent misstep.  Being caught a second time would be a disaster, and this was one task that Draco knew he couldn’t fail at.

 

Harry’s life, and his sanity, depended on Draco’s success.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Albus closed the door behind Draco, his eyes narrowed.  The boy had seemed genuinely remorseful for upsetting Harry, not that he actually had managed to upset the puppet, but somehow… somehow Albus didn’t trust it.

 

Could it really be so simple as Draco wanting to be friends with the boy he’d practically bullied throughout his years at Hogwarts?  Albus didn’t think so.

 

“Thank you for bringing his actions to my attention, Hermione,” Albus said slowly.  He walked back to his desk and settled down behind it.

 

Hermione took off Harry’s cloak, a frown on her face.  “I don’t believe him, Headmaster,” she said, her brows furrowed.  “It’s all too… convenient.”  She stared after Draco, her gaze far away.

 

“I agree, as it happens,” Albus said after a long pause while he considered his options.  “Unfortunately, Severus does believe the boy, and trusts that he’s here with the best of intentions.  And if he’s not here for the reasons he says he is, and instead hopes to free Potter, I’m afraid that we can’t count on Mr. Weasley to assist you in keeping an eye on him.”

 

Hermione shook her head, her hair dancing back and forth.  “You don’t need to worry about that, sir,” she said with a small smile.  “I’m more than capable of keeping an eye on Malfoy and Weasley both, as well as Harry.  I’m just sorry that it seems to be necessary.”

 

“As am I, my dear girl.”  Albus sent her off with a smile and a wave of his hand, then closed his eyes and rested his head on one of his hands.  His other hand, the one which he’d used to pick up the cursed ring, throbbed in pain.

 

“It isn’t like I enjoy this,” he muttered to himself.  He lifted his hand and cancelled the glamours he wore to conceal it from students.  It was getting worse, and he knew that he would be dead before the end of the school year.  Once upon a time, he would have trusted Harry to continue the quest after his death, would have believed that the boy would go to the ends of the earth to defeat Voldemort.  Now, though…

 

“I don’t have any choice,” he said, and put the glamours back up.  If he wanted Voldemort to be defeated, then he would have to see it done before he died.  He didn’t want to turn Harry into a puppet, but he hadn’t had another option.

 

Harry was their only chance at defeating Voldemort, Albus knew that.  The prophecy said so, and the chances of an actual prophecy, one which had a place in the Halls of Time, being wrong were… so miniscule as not to matter, really.

 

And if Harry didn’t want to defeat Voldemort, that would mean that he would reign, unchecked, and that would be disastrous for Muggles and wizards alike.

 

Albus couldn’t allow that, no matter how much he genuinely wished that he could have given Harry his freedom.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The Come and Go Room was a mess, and Draco didn’t know if he’d be able to use anything in it.  He’d been up three times already in the three weeks since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, and he’d found one of the things that Voldemort had warned him about.  A horcrux.  The man had a bloody horcrux hidden in the middle of Hogwarts, and just seeing it was enough to make Draco’s skin crawl.

 

He still couldn’t believe that the Dark Lord had warned him about it.  He would have rathered never know about it, but he supposed it was better to know about it than not.  The things that could have happened if he’d given in to the coaxing aura of the diadem, if he’d put it on…

 

Draco shivered and turned his back on it once more.  He had to keep looking.  He hadn’t found anything that might work to bring a large number of Death Eaters through the wards, and they would need a large number.  That he was sure of.  After all, Harry had trained a veritable army here if rumors from last year were to be believed.

 

But there was… nothing…

 

Something caught Draco’s eye in the corner of the room, and he approached it with a frown.  It was a… a vanishing cabinet?  Well.  That could be… something, at least.  It would work to bring one Death Eater through at a time, or rather, it would if he could find the second half of it.  And if it was in working order, which was always a question.  Those things broke so often…

 

Also, was it safe to take humans through?  If the enchantments wore off while a human was being transported…

 

Draco shuddered.  No, no, that was a terrible idea.  Still, it was an idea, and that was all he had at the moment.  He’d been through half of the room already, and that was the best option he had.  And Harry had been under the ritual’s power for almost a month, now.  October was approaching.

 

The longer Harry stayed under the ritual, the worse off he’d be.

 

A small chime sounded, and Draco swore viciously.  It was time to return to the Slytherin dorms, because any longer away and he would be missed.  He stalked through the room and slammed the door open, his temper terrible.  The only option he had, and he wasn’t even sure if it counted as an actual option.

 

He almost didn’t notice the redhead standing at the door to the room before he was being shoved back into the room.  He tripped over something behind him and landed on his ass with an undignified squawk.  Draco drew his wand and pointed it at Ron, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Oh, put that away, for Merlin’s sake,” Ron hissed.  “We need to talk, Malfoy.”


	16. Chapter Fifteen - An Unlikely Ally

 

Malfoy was up to something, Ron was sure of it.  He’d thought it was suspicious that Malfoy had shown up at Hogwarts after the school year had started, that he’d tried to approach Harry like they were old friends as soon as he had the chance to do so, but he hadn’t really thought much of it.  After all, if Malfoy was trying kidnap Harry to give him to the Dark Lord once more, well, at least Harry would probably die faster that way.

 

Ron couldn’t imagine that Harry would rather be alive, be trapped under this awful spell, than be dead and free.  He knew that’s what he would rather.

 

But Malfoy continued to act oddly, not appearing for meals on occasion and distancing himself from his fellow Slytherins when he did appear.  He looked tired, drawn, like he was worried about something.  Ron didn’t have the faintest idea as to what he could be worried about, and tried to put it out of his mind.

 

What did it matter?  There were more important things to worry about, like getting Harry out of this school and away from the Headmaster so that he could try and figure out how to break the ritual.  It would be easier if Hermione were on his side because she would probably be able to figure out the ritual Dumbledore had used a lot faster than he could, but…

 

But looking at her now, looking at the way she was smiling as Ginny practically crawled into Harry’s lap in the Great Hall, Ron knew that she would never help him.  She knew that Harry wasn’t under his own control, and it didn’t look like she cared at all, in spite of the fact that Ron knew that Harry had no interest in his little sister.  Or rather, that he’d never had any before.  And he couldn’t imagine that mentally-imprisoned Harry had any interest in her either.

 

Ron hated the entire situation.  He shoved away from the table and stalked off, ignoring Harry’s body when it called to him, asking him where he was going.  He couldn’t sit there anymore and watch the parody of normalcy that was taking place in front of him.  It was disgusting.

 

He was about to head to his room, to try to go to bed early so that maybe he’d actually be able to focus on his classes the following day when he caught sight of Malfoy, headed up the stairs rather than down to the dungeons.  Where was he going?

 

Ron didn’t even really have to think about it.  He followed Malfoy up the stairs, and up and up again, until they reached the seventh floor.  Malfoy immediately began to pace back and forth, and Ron’s eyes widened.  He was opening the Room of Requirement.  What the hell was Malfoy doing with that?

 

A door appeared, and before Ron could react, Malfoy had disappeared inside of it and the room had sealed itself behind him.  Ron had two options, now, and he wasn’t sure which one he was going to take.  He could wait for Malfoy and confront him once he’d left the room, or he could go back to his room and sleep and try to forget that he’d seen Malfoy at all.

 

Ron turned his back on the concealed entrance and started back down the stairs.  And then he paused.  Harry had said… Harry had said that he’d been with Malfoy over the summer, and Dumbledore had said…  They’d had to capture Harry.  He hadn’t gone willingly.  Ron turned back around.  Harry had willingly been with Malfoy, which meant that he’d likely been willingly in Voldemort’s custody.  Which explained why Harry had to be under the ritual’s control, because he didn’t want to be here.  Nothing else made sense.

 

Why would Harry…  

 

It didn’t matter, Ron decided.  He turned back to the hidden entrance.  It didn’t matter why Harry had gone to Voldemort.  If Voldemort had removed him from the war, had sent him to France, then that implied that he wasn’t planning on killing Harry.  That meant… that meant that if he wasn’t going to kill Harry, and had no interest in keeping him bound in ritual the way that Dumbledore had, that… Voldemort could be an ally, and by extension… by extension, Malfoy could be an ally.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Ron muttered.  He raked a hand through his hair and turned back to the stairs once more.  Then he stopped again before he could take another step.  “Voldemort is not a potential ally,” he hissed to himself.  “Neither is Malfoy.  Stop it!”

 

But he couldn’t make himself move.  He couldn’t convince himself that this was an absolutely mad idea.  He felt like his world had turned upside down, and he didn’t know what to do about it.  Dumbledore couldn’t be trusted, and was definitely no kind of ally.  Merlin’s balls, if he found out that Ron was even thinking about allying with Malfoy, with Voldemort, he’d find himself under ritual as quickly as Harry had, if he didn’t find himself executed.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed.  He leaned against the wall and knew that he wasn’t going to move again before the door reappeared.  Ron’s loyalty was to Harry, and if that meant that he’d have to trust a slimy snake like Malfoy, well, he might have to do that.

 

He settled in to wait, letting his eyes fall closed.  He just hoped that Hermione and Harry didn’t miss him before he decided to head back to the Tower.  The last thing he would need, if he were really going to work with Malfoy, would be for Hermione to get curious.  She was unstoppable once she had her teeth sunk into something, and Ron would hate to be the thing in question she was chewing into.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

He’d almost drifted off to sleep when the doors reappeared, and Ron jerked to his feet.  He sprinted across the hall and waited for the door to open, then shoved Malfoy back into the room.  Malfoy fell on his ass, but had his wand out and pointed at Ron with impressive speed.

 

Ron just rolled his eyes.  Like he couldn’t take Malfoy in a fight if it came to that.  “Oh, put that away, for Merlin’s sake,” he hissed, quietly, because the door was still open and someone could theoretically be walking past them.  “We need to talk, Malfoy.”

 

Malfoy swallowed.  “Just talk, Weasley?” he asked, and there was a certain wariness in his voice that Ron hadn’t expected.  But of course there would be.  Malfoy was either a Death Eater, or the closest thing to it.  Of course he’d be nervous about talking to Ron, who was as far on the side of light as it was possible to be.

 

Or had been, anyway.  Ron stepped forward far enough that the door could close on them.  “Yeah, Malfoy,” he said tiredly.  “Just talk.  About Harry, and what your plans are for him.”

 

“I don’t have any plans for Potter,” Malfoy said immediately.  “It was a mistake to approach him, the Headmaster’s already told me about that.  Never you fear, I won’t be making that mistake again.  I’ll keep my distance from him.”

 

Ron couldn’t help the small grin that appeared on his face.  “That was an awful lot of denials for a simple question,” he pointed out.  “For a Slytherin, you’re not very good at this whole sneaking around thing.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.  “What are you trying to say, Weasley?” he asked.  There was something dark in his voice, now, an undercurrent that spoke of danger.

 

Ron immediately backed up a step, his hand falling to his wand.  He didn’t draw it, though, no matter how tempted he was.  He had the feeling that if this escalated, it could go very bad, very quickly.  But then, of course it could.  He’d cornered someone he thought was a Death Eater.  Because that was a smart thing to do by himself.

 

“I’m trying to say that you’re up to something,” Ron said finally.  It probably wasn’t the best thing for him to say, judging by the way that the first syllable of a very dangerous curse formed on Malfoy’s lips immediately.  “Wait!” he cried, and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  He didn’t grab his wand as he did so.

 

“Whatever you think you know, Weasley,” Malfoy started.

 

“I know that you’re up to something, and I think that it has to do with Harry.”  Ron watched closely, and was pleased with the flinch from Malfoy.  He was right.  “You’re here to get him out of Hogwarts.  To return him to the Dark Lord, who, for some reason, wants Harry safe now.  Am I getting warm?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but he lowered his wand slowly.  “You’re not entirely wrong,” he said slowly.  “What are you going to do about it?”

 

Ron just shook his head.  “Nothing,” he said honestly.  “If you manage to get Harry out of here, more power to you.  I think it’s a good idea.  I hate what Dumbledore’s done to him.  I’ve been trying to think of a way to get him out myself.”

 

There were numerous passages out of the school, of course, but all of those would be harder to take without Harry’s cooperation.  But if there were more than one person involved in getting him out of the school… it was a possibility, at least.

 

But Malfoy was shaking his head.  “It’s not that easy,” he said tiredly.  He shifted and let his head fall to rest on his hands, then clenched his hands in his hair.  “If it were that easy, I could have gotten him out of here with my other ally without any kind of problem.  But… we don’t know what ritual was done to Harry, and that’s a problem.”

 

“The effects wear off after a few days,” Ron said.  He shrugged.  “I don’t think they wear off completely, it just gets easier for Harry to fight it.  I watched it happen once.  He managed to write help before Hermione dragged him back to Dumbledore.  Then I watched the ritual be done, but… I don’t know much at all about ritual magic.  I don’t know which one Dumbledore used.”

 

Malfoy blew out a breath.  “That’s something,” he muttered.  “But we don’t know how much he’ll improve.  What if that’s all he can ever do?  If we can’t figure out the ritual, we might as well leave him here under Dumbledore’s control.  If he tries to kill the Dark Lord…”  Malfoy shivered and shook his head.  He looked away.

 

He really did look tired.  “So what are you planning, then?” Ron asked.

 

Malfoy just turned his head to stare at him.  “I can’t tell you that, Weasley,” he said.  “You’d go to Dumbledore.”  He shook his head.  “I shouldn’t have even told you anything that I did tell you,” he muttered.

 

“What if I swear on my magic?” Ron asked impulsively.  Maybe it wasn’t the brightest decision he’d ever made, but he knew… he just knew that if he knew what Malfoy was planning, he’d… well, he didn’t know what he would do, honestly, but he knew that it was important.  He needed to know, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with the information.

 

“Are you sure you want to risk that?” Malfoy asked.  “Dumbledore’s a Legilimens.  You’re going to have to be incredibly careful around him, since I doubt you know Occlumency.”

 

Ron’s lips twitched.  “I just won’t meet his eyes,” he said with a small shrug.  “I haven’t been doing so all year anyway.  He knows how angry I am about what he’s done to Harry.”

 

“Your promise, then,” Malfoy snapped.

 

Ron made the oath, and felt it settle around him.  It was his first time making one of any gravity, and he could feel the weight of it.  It was a heavy thing, and he couldn’t imagine how punitive an oath like the one he’d just given, to not reveal anything about the conversation in this room until such time as Malfoy told him that he could, would be if he violated it.

 

“So tell me,” he said simply, once the oath had settled.

 

“I’m trying to get a large group of people into Hogwarts, without being blocked by the wards or alerting the Headmaster,” Malfoy said.

 

Ron’s breath left him in a sharp whistle.  “You’re trying to get Death Eaters into the castle,” he realized.  “Lots of them.  Enough to… to what, to take the castle?”  He shook his head.  “It’ll be a bloodbath,” he breathed.

 

“We don’t have a choice,” Malfoy muttered.  “Aside from the fact that taking Hogwarts is an excellent move, symbolically and strategically, it’s where the Dark Lord will find information about the ritual that Dumbledore performed on Harry.  If I just take Harry and get him out, Dumbledore will be able to get rid of the information, either by hiding it or destroying it.  If we attack and take the castle, Dumbledore will be too busy trying to defend it to destroy anything.”

 

Ron closed his eyes.  The oath he’d just taken felt heavier than it had only moments ago, impossibly enough.  “No, you’re right,” he muttered.  Strategically, it was the only decision that the Death Eaters, that Voldemort could make.  Anything else could, theoretically, result in Harry’s permanently bespelled state.  “I don’t know if I can help you with that,” he said honestly.

 

He wanted to, Merlin knew he did.  He wanted to say fuck it all and make Harry his only priority, but… but there were children at Hogwarts.  First years, who didn’t even understand what the war was about in the cases of Muggleborns.  What would happen to them during this supposed assault?  Was Ron just supposed to believe that Voldemort would let them live?

 

“Think about it,” Malfoy said with a small, tired sigh.  “I’m certainly not getting anywhere right now.  My best idea is a broken vanishing cabinet.”

 

“If I did help you…”  Ron stopped.  He couldn’t believe what he was about to ask.  “What would happen to the students?  The ones who have no part in this war, who don’t even know enough to fight the Death Eaters when they come?”

 

Malfoy just shook his head.  “I don’t know,” he said honestly.  “I’d like to think that my Lord would be merciful, but I honestly don’t know.”

 

Ron nodded.  “You find out the answer to that question,” he suggested.  “And I… I’ll think about my options.”

 

He left the Room of Requirement with what felt like a million more questions swirling in his head.  He couldn’t tell anyone what he’d learned, of course, because he’d taken that oath.  And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell anyone, anyway.  The Death Eaters seemed like they might be the best option for Harry, as absurd as the thought was.  

 

But what about the rest of the students?  What would this mean for them?  There were so many innocent children at Hogwarts that could be caught in the crossfire if the Death Eaters managed to breach Hogwarts.  His sister… as much as he disliked what she was getting up to with Harry, not that it was her fault since she didn’t know he was just a puppet right now… How could he expose his little sister to Death Eaters? Ginny would fight, Ron knew, and that would get her killed.

 

He supposed it came down to an important question:  Which was more important to him?  The rest of the wizarding world, or his best friend?

 

It should have been an easy question to answer, but Ron was finding that it wasn’t easy at all.

 

His sleep that night was uneasy, and he woke the next morning with no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that I didn't do many review responses this week. As I said before, it's been a rough one. I'll try to respond to the reviews for this chapter, but the end-of-semester crunch is killing me and I won't make any promises. Just know that I read and appreciated each and every review from all of you.


	17. Chapter Sixteen - An Unwelcome Report

 

Severus had found that he’d never felt more helpless than when he was watching Draco struggle to find a way to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.  He wanted to help him, but unfortunately, he couldn’t.  Even if he hadn’t been given orders to the contrary, even if he hadn’t been told to just watch, he didn’t know of a way that would work.  

 

He didn’t think there was one, honestly, and hoped that his Lord wouldn’t be too upset when Draco failed at this task.  He knew that the hope was a ridiculous one, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping it anyway.

 

He noticed immediately that something was different about Draco the next time he saw him for Potions, though.  Draco looked more alert, more intent, and looked almost gleeful.  He watched as the blonde shot a look at Ron Weasley, of all people, and watched as Weasley blatantly ignored him.  It was so blatant, in fact, that Severus couldn’t help but wonder if there was something going on there.

 

His suspicions were immediately proven correct when his godson deliberately botched his potion, causing a minor explosion that did little damage but made a spectacular mess.  “Detention, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus immediately snapped.  “What were you thinking, adding those eyes to that base?” he added.  “Everyone, out.  Mr. Malfoy needs to clean this up, so I’m afraid that I’m going to be grading your potions based on the steps you’d taken until this point.”

 

There were some minor grumbles, but most students were pleased to be dismissed early from class, even if it did mean that they’d get a lower grade on their work for the day.

 

Severus waited until the class had filed out and the door had closed behind them, then cast a minor privacy ward around himself and Draco.  “Tell me that you didn’t mess up that potion because you’re that tired,” he told his godson.

 

Draco laughed, the sound exhausted but genuinely cheerful.  “No,” he said.  “I might have a potential ally for us.  I think he might know a way into the castle that we don’t.”

 

Severus’ eyes narrowed.  “And does he know what this way would be used for?” he asked.

 

Draco nodded.  “But I got him to swear on his magic that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even Dumbledore, about what I told him.  And he hasn’t made a move to do so yet, so I think he’s actually thinking about what I’ve told him.”

 

Severus considered the students he’d seen Draco interacting with recently.  “It’s Weasley, isn’t it?”  When Draco nodded, Severus just sighed.  “He’s too quick to ignore you when before he would have gleefully jumped down your throat for any reason.  If Dumbledore were actually looking at the two of you, you might actually be in trouble.”

 

“But Dumbledore isn’t,” Draco said.  “Or he would have figured out that I was actually up to something.  If Weasley could figure it out, I’m sure that Dumbledore could.”

 

No, he wasn’t paying attention to Draco, or to Ron.  Severus couldn’t be sure, but he thought that the curse that was killing him was starting to affect the old man’s mind.  He’d been more and more focused on the horcruxes and less on what was going on at the school.  He supposed that it made sense, since they all needed to be destroyed before Voldemort could be killed, but were Severus Dumbledore, he would have been paying very close attention to the young man who’d only converted out of fear for his life.

 

Severus supposed he should be grateful that Dumbledore wasn’t paying attention.  That meant that this task wasn’t entirely impossible, and was just mostly hopeless.  If nothing else, he supposed that after Dumbledore had died from the curse they could find the information they needed.

 

They just didn’t want to leave Harry under the control of the ritual for so long.

 

“I think I might have better luck getting Weasley to help if I could answer one of his questions,” Draco was saying, snapping Severus back to the conversation.

 

“What question was that?” Severus asked.

 

Draco’s smile was a little sad.  “He wants to know what happens to the students here,” he said.  He looked down and swallowed.  “The innocent ones.  The ones who don’t fight, who are too frightened to try and fight back.  What happens to them?  Will the Dark Lord just have them all killed?”

 

Severus wanted to shake his head, wanted to say that Voldemort wouldn’t do that, but… but some of his followers… would.  The Carrows, Bellatrix…  None of them were well-renowned for their kindness or their restraint.

 

“I can’t answer that,” was what he settled on.  “But I suppose I could ask him the next time I meet with him.”

 

And then, because he was thinking about it and that was just the way that Fate worked sometimes, his mark began to burn.  “Like now,” he muttered.  “I’m being summoned.”

 

Draco nodded and immediately opened the door for him.  “I’ll clean up my mess.  Be safe, Professor.”

 

“For right now, I have very little to worry about,” Severus told his godson, then swept from the room.  He checked in with Dumbledore, told the Headmaster that he’d been summoned, then headed to the edge of the wards and Apparated away.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus dropped into a kneel as soon as he entered Voldemort’s office.  “My Lord called for me?” he asked.  He noted briefly that Lupin was present in the room, standing quietly by the Dark Lord side.  Was Lupin about to become a full Death Eater?  Why was he… oh.  He was probably worried about Harry, much like everyone else was.

 

“I did,” Voldemort said quietly.  “Stand up, Severus.  I’ve got intelligence for you to pass on to Dumbledore, so that he won’t be too suspicious of you.  We’re going to do two raids in the coming nights.  One on Hogsmeade, which he’ll be expecting since he’ll know that I want Harry back.  The other will be… elsewhere.  I’m not telling you where it is, not because I don’t trust you with the information, but because I want to keep the old man guessing.”

 

Severus inclined his head in a graceful nod.  “You want me to tell him that both are happening, but that you wouldn’t give me information about the second raid, correct?”

 

Voldemort’s nod was sharp.  “Precisely.”  Then he leaned back in his chair.  “Now sit, Severus, and tell me what you know of Harry.  Is he…”  Voldemort swallowed, and Severus realized that he was genuinely nervous.  “Does he seem well to you?”

 

Severus just shrugged.  “As well as can be expected,” he said honestly.  “The boy is being kept under a ritual, which means that he’s behaving exactly as he would normally.  He eats well, he talks to Granger and Weasley, he lets the Weasley girl hang all over him.”

 

“He does what?” Lupin asked, and Severus was startled to hear a little bit of a growl in his voice.

 

Voldemort waved his hand once, sharply, and Lupin went still.  “And Draco’s progress?” Voldemort asked, ignoring the werewolf’s obvious irritation at being silenced.

 

Severus hesitated, and Voldemort’s eyes narrowed at the hesitation.  Severus bowed his head and sighed.  “Draco thinks he might have an ally,” he said finally.  “Someone who can help him get the Death Eaters into the school.  But his ally is… hesitant, because he fears what will happen to the children if the Death Eaters invade.”

 

“The children?” Voldemort scoffed.  “Please.  They’ll all be fighting for their lives, for their precious light-”

 

“He doesn’t worry about the ones old enough to oppose you,” Severus interrupted smoothly, and hoped that he wasn’t about to be cursed for his interruption.  “He worries about the youngest ones.  The first years.  He’s concerned that the children who don’t fight will be hurt.”

 

Voldemort stared back at Severus blankly, like he couldn’t process the question.  “Why would I hurt them?” he asked, and sounded genuinely confused.  “Severus, the children of the wizarding world are its future.  Without them, we won’t be able to rebuild our society.”

 

“Even the mudbloods?” Severus asked quietly.

 

Voldemort let out an irritated noise.  “Even them, I suppose,” he said.  He looked away, his face contorted into an odd expression.  Severus would have said that his nose was wrinkled, but that wasn’t quite accurate, given that he didn’t have one.

 

“Harry would appreciate that decision,” Severus pointed out.

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and his hand shifted in the direction of his wand.  “But Harry isn’t here, is he, Severus?  And don’t try to placate me by telling me what the boy would like.”

 

“My apologies, my Lord,” Severus said, and bowed low.

 

“If you don’t mind, can we go back to what you said about the Weasley girl?” Lupin asked mildly.  In spite of the fact that he sounded like he was trying to maintain his sense of control, there was still a low growl to his words.

 

“Lupin, it’s nowhere near the full moon,” Severus said.  “What on earth is the matter with you?”

 

Lupin’s growl was much louder, and the hair on the back of Severus’ neck stood on end.  He sounded… almost like Greyback, actually, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?  When Lupin took a step forward, the motion smooth and unhurried, Severus actually took a step back.  He’d never seen Lupin like this, moving with such predatory purpose.

 

“What’s the matter with me, Severus?” Lupin asked, his voice still low, still more of a growl than not.  “How can you ask me that, when my godson, the only link I have to my past, is stuck at Hogwarts under a ritual while you sit here and debate about the lives of other children?”  His eyes were more golden than amber, and they pinned Severus in place as he paced forward, so that he was practically breathing the same air as Severus.

 

Severus managed to take a step back.  “My Lord,” he started.

 

“I asked you a question!” Lupin snapped.  His hand lashed out, and Severus found his wrist captured in an iron grip.  The werewolf, for all that he looked frail, really was much stronger than Severus could ever hope to be.  “What is the Weasley girl doing to Harry?”

 

“I think they’re dating,” Severus bit out, and hoped that his voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it did.  He couldn’t help it.  He was practically being pinned by the werewolf, and Voldemort didn’t seem inclined to interfere on his behalf.

 

Lupin let out a howl, loud and animalistic and angry enough to make Severus’ knees turn to jelly.  He locked them in place through sheer force of will.  “You’re letting them rape him!” Lupin snarled when his howling subsided.

 

The words were like a blow.  “I’m doing no such thing!” Severus growled.  “My Lord, please, make this mongrel let me go!”

 

“I could do that,” Voldemort said idly, and when Severus glanced at him, he was spinning his wand around, looking more bored than anything else.  “But honestly, I think that the two of you should probably work this out.  After all, both of you have Harry’s best interests at heart, don’t you?”

 

There was a wicked sort of amusement in Voldemort’s voice, and Severus hated his Lord more than anything in that moment.  The hatred intensified when Voldemort got up and left his office.  “Play nice, you two!” the Dark Lord said from the doorway.  “If one of you doesn’t make it out alive, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

 

Severus opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, the door slammed shut, leaving him stuck in the room with a half-mad werewolf.  He tried to pull away from Lupin, but he still couldn’t manage to free his wrist.  And then he felt the weight of anti-Apparition wards landing around the room, and heard the ominous click of the lock.

 

He was stuck, and Lupin’s continued growling was terrifying.  Why on earth would Voldemort have let the werewolf hang around Greyback, anyway?  Didn’t he know that Lupin was dangerous enough when he wasn’t joining the monster’s pack?

 

“Besides,” Voldemort said through the wood.  “When Harry comes out from under the ritual, I think he’s going to need both of you.  So don’t you two think you ought to try and get along?”

 

Lupin’s growling stopped and his eyes gradually shifted towards their normal, more calm shade of amber.  His brow was furrowed, and he dropped Severus’ hand like it was poisonous.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

 

Severus just sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose.  He felt a headache coming on, and had no idea what he was going to do about it.  “Whatever,” he finally muttered.

 

They were stuck here, and he didn’t think that Voldemort was going to be particularly inclined to change his mind until he and Remus had made up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  Unfortunately, I’ve run out of chapters to post for this fic and finals are happening in two weeks.  This means that I'm entering my final week of classes, and I have numerous projects to do.  Because of that, there will be no updates next week, and they will resume on the following Friday, two weeks from today. Thank you all so much for your kind words and your understanding; I sincerely appreciate it.


	18. Chapter Seventeen - The Werewolf and the Potions Master

 

Remus stared at Severus, his heart still pounding with the force of his rage and frustration, but doing his best to hold it in check. As angry as he was about what was probably happening to Harry right at that moment, he knew that it wasn’t Severus’ fault. Severus was probably doing everything he could to keep Harry safe, even if right now it felt like everything wasn’t enough.

 

“I don’t understand,” Remus said finally into the stiff silence that had fallen between them.

 

“What don’t you understand?” Severus’ voice was cool, almost frozen in its chill.  His lips were pressed thin, his eyes narrowed.

 

Remus was almost positive that the man was terrified, and was doing his best to hide it. He knew how much Severus hated werewolves, and almost felt guilty for being stuck in a room alone with him. On the other hand… “I don’t understand why we can’t just go and rescue Harry. Kill Dumbledore, take Hogwarts by force, and get my godson out of that godforsaken school.”

 

And how much did it hurt to refer to the place he’d grown up in, the place he’d once thought of as a home, as godforsaken?  Yet no other word really fit.  Dumbledore had taken what had once been a sanctuary to him, and had used it to imprison the only thing he had left of his only friends.

 

Lupin would never be able to see Hogwarts in the same light again.

 

Severus laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. “We can’t do that, Lupin, because how will we figure out what ritual Harry is under? If we kill Dumbledore before we have that information, there’s a chance that the name of the ritual, and thus our ability to break it, will go to his grave with him.”

 

Remus exhaled sharply, his breath hitching as it left him. He breathed in again, and this time he found that he had difficulty doing it around the lump in his throat. “I understand,” he said, surprised by how hoarse his voice had become in just a few heartbeats. “But dammit, Severus, there has to be something more that we can do, something more than just sitting around waiting to see if Ronald fucking Weasley decides to turn on his family!”

 

Because wasn’t that a ridiculous thought?  No Weasley had ever turned their backs on their family, not completely. Percy had come close, but even he hadn’t discarded every ideal the Weasley family believed in.

 

Severus shrugged. “If you have other thoughts, I’d love to hear them,” he said. “Because if you think that I’m not turning these things over in my head every day, you’re wrong.  I promised that I would keep him safe, and…”  Severus gritted his teeth and shook his head.

 

Remus closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, blinking back the tears that were starting to form at the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t exactly sad; he was certain that they were more tears of frustrated anger than anything else. “And you said that they weren’t… that the Weasley girl wasn’t…”

 

“It doesn’t appear to have gone anywhere past kissing,” Severus said quietly. He shook his head again and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Not that that isn’t bad enough. If there was anything I could do to stop it…”

 

“Could you tell her about the ritual?” Remus asked. Then he looked away. “No, nevermind. That was a stupid question. Of course you can’t; you can’t risk her telling someone that you’re more on Harry’s side than you appear to be.”

 

“Exactly,” Severus said.  He sounded almost… hopeless.  It wasn’t a tone that Remus was used to hearing from him.

 

There was a clicking sound behind them, the sound of the door unlocking. Remus let out a small sigh, but didn’t move towards the door. “Can you tell me something?” he asked, when Severus didn’t move either.  There was something he’d been wondering, but he didn’t trust anyone other than Severus to give him an honest answer.

 

“Perhaps,” Severus responded. “Though I can’t promise that you’ll like whatever it is that I’m telling you.”

 

“What’s it like, being a Death Eater?”

 

Severus immediately shook his head. “Don’t do that,” he said quickly, his voice startlingly hoarse quite suddenly.  “Don’t make that mistake, Lupin.”

 

Remus didn’t move. “Tell me that Voldemort is going to let Harry go his own way, then,” he said quietly. “Tell me that he’s going to allow people that he doesn’t trust implicitly to be in contact with him.”

 

Severus looked away, his eyes going dark with some emotion that Remus couldn’t identify. Regret, maybe? “I can’t tell you that,” he said after a beat of silence. “But Lupin, please, you don’t want to do this. The man murdered your best friend!  He murdered Lily, and—”

 

Remus nodded along with Severus’ points. “He did,” he said, when Severus cut off abruptly. “Voldemort murdered James and Lily, and it was at least partially his fault that Sirius is dead. And I’ll never forgive him for that, but Severus, tell me that he’ll let me see Harry as more than a fucking messenger if he doesn’t think that I’m loyal.”

 

Severus shook his head again. “I can’t tell you that, Lupin,” he said once more. “But I can tell you that you’ll be making a mistake. That you aren’t a Death Eater, that you’ll never be a Death Eater, not properly.”

 

Remus looked down at his hands.  “I never thought I’d be a member of Greyback’s pack, either,” he said quietly. “And maybe I’m not actually a member of Greyback’s pack, not yet, but I will be if I stay here. And I can’t leave, not with Harry… not if Voldemort is going to keep Harry here.”

 

“Then be a member of Greyback’s pack, but don’t make this mistake,” Severus snapped. He wouldn’t look at Remus. “It’s one of the things that I regret the most, taking the Dark Lord’s mark.”  Then he flinched and glanced behind him, as though he expected Voldemort to burst through the door.  When no such thing happened, Severus rubbed at his arm a little, like it was hurting him, and relaxed ever so slightly.

 

Remus reached out before he could think better of the action and touched Severus on the shoulder. The Potions Master started, his eyes going wide, but he didn’t move away from Remus. “I’m sorry that you feel that way,” Remus said carefully. “But I… I need to do what’s best for Harry at this point, and if that means joining the Dark Lord…”

 

Though he could scarcely believe that the words were crossing his lips, Remus knew that he meant them. He’d been undecided for far too long. He didn’t know if he was making the right decision, if James or Lily or Sirius would ever forgive him for taking the Dark Mark, but Remus knew that it was what had to do.

 

Severus wouldn’t look him in the eye. “You can be loyal to the Dark Lord, loyal enough to earn his trust, without taking his mark.”

 

Remus squeezed Severus’ shoulder, not hard enough to hurt. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But will I be able to be there for Harry when he comes out from under that damned ritual otherwise? Do you think that Voldemort would let someone who didn’t bear his mark anywhere near Harry so soon after he’s freed?”

 

Severus finally looked at him, his eyes haunted. “Do you want to be there when Harry’s freed?” he asked, and there was something in his voice, some kind of warning, that made Remus almost doubt the answer he’d thought he’d known.

 

But… “Yes,” he said firmly.  “Of course I want to be there when Harry’s freed.”

 

Severus laughed, the sound hollow and broken.  “You might think that’s what you want, Lupin, just like you think you want to be a Death Eater, but trust me, you have no idea what it is that you’re asking for.  You’re picturing some kind of triumphant moment where we free Harry and he immediately thanks us for all of our hard work, right?”

 

Remus opened his mouth to respond, to refute the idea that he would ever be so naive, but Severus just steamrolled over him. “It won’t be like that, Lupin. We’ll be lucky if we manage to free him at all, and if we do, it certainly isn’t going to be a moment of triumph. He could come out a drooling lunatic, unable to form a coherent sentence or… or…”  Severus devolved into laughing again, and it didn’t take long before the laughter turned into tears, harsh sobs that wracked Severus’ slender frame. Remus couldn’t be certain, but he thought he heard the man say, “This is all my fault.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said quickly, and used the grip he still had on Severus’ shoulder to draw him closer. Part of him thought that Severus would use the increased contact as an excuse to pull away entirely, but it was a sign of how upset he was that he only leaned into Remus and let himself cry. “How could this be your fault? It wasn’t like you gave Dumbledore Harry’s location.”

 

“If he’d trusted me more, he would have told me that he was going for Harry,” Severus whispered hoarsely.  Remus felt a tugging at his robe and realized that Severus had knotted his hands in the front of it. “I could have gotten him out in time, and it might have cost Voldemort his spy, but it would have been worth it to spare Harry this.”

 

“I didn’t know you cared so deeply about Harry’s well-being,” Remus said carefully.

 

“I promised that I would keep him safe,” Severus said again. His sobs had stopped, and he leaned against Remus for only a few moments more before he pulled back and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. “And look at what a fantastic job I did of it.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Remus said again. He rubbed Severus’ shoulder with the hand that remained there, then dropped his hand before Severus could shrug it off. “It wasn’t your fault at all, I promise.”

 

The fact was that they didn’t know how Dumbledore had found Harry, and they might never find that out. But if there was one thing that Remus knew, it was that it couldn’t possibly be Severus’ fault.

 

“I’m sorry about… crying… on you,” Severus said stiffly. “I can assure you that it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

 

Remus didn’t try to stop the small laugh that escaped him, one of genuine amusement. “It’s fine,” he said honestly. “You didn’t bother me. I’m glad that I could be here.”

 

Severus stared at him, his eyes moving over Remus’ face as though he was searching for something. “We aren’t friends,” he said slowly, like he was trying to figure out what Remus meant.

 

“That’s your decision,” Remus said honestly. “I’m still mad at you for revealing my secret during Harry’s third year, but if you’d like, we can put all of this behind us. Or try to, anyway.”

 

Severus looked away. “You’re a werewolf,” he said, but he didn’t sound nearly as vitriolic as he might have once upon a time.

 

“I am,” Remus agreed. “I have been since I was a child, as you know. I do my best to maintain control over myself, but as you are well aware, sometimes I slip. I would imagine that the same is true of any human.”

 

Severus dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement. “I won’t apologize for revealing your status to the school in Harry’s third year,” he said stiffly. “You shouldn’t have been there, as evinced by the fact that you forgot to take your Wolfsbane potion.”

 

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “I could point out that forgetting to take the potion happened during a time of duress, but I think that you’re aware of that. I also think that you’re not entirely wrong, given that my moment of duress could have cost several innocent children their lives, Harry included in that number.”

 

“Thank you for acknowledging that,” Severus said, still a bit stiff.

 

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so, the door opened and Voldemort swept into the room. He scowled at both of them. “For Merlin’s sake, you’re both still here? I unlocked the door at least fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“We were making amends,” Severus said stiffly. He bowed once to Voldemort, nodded to Remus, then swept from the room.

  
Remus took a deep breath. “Do you have a moment… my lord?” he asked quietly, carefully.  He still wasn’t sure if he was making the right decision, if any of his friends would ever forgive him, if he would regret this, but…

 

But he’d already decided that he would do whatever it took to be with Harry in his time of need, and this was most definitely a time of need.

 

“I do,” Voldemort said coolly. “What do you need, Lupin?”

 

The Dark Mark, when Remus got it, burned like nothing Remus had ever felt before. It was the worst pain he’d ever known, worse than Sirius’ imagined betrayal or Peter’s actual betrayal. Remus only hoped that he wasn’t completely betraying his closest friends by taking the Dark Mark, hoped that they would understand that he was doing this for Harry.

 

“Harry will be so pleased to have you with him,” Voldemort said, and Remus bowed his head in acknowledgment.

 

Surely, surely they would understand…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m very sorry for the wait for this chapter.  It fought me, a lot, and I had to wrestle with it to write it.  Also, there were some personal issues, including a bout with a minor illness plus finals plus RA duties at the end of the school year.
> 
> And now for a quick round of good news/bad news!
> 
> Good news:  We’re less than ten chapters away from Harry regaining his freedom.
> 
> Bad news:  Next chapter is entirely in Harry’s point of view.  Take care of yourselves, everyone!


	19. Chapter Eighteen - Stuck in a Glass Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Harry’s point of view.  Please take care of yourselves!

The body was warm.

 

Harry tried to ignore the way that the body was warm, but only on one side. The problem was that the rest of the body was cold, and Harry didn’t like that. He tried to tune it out, and found it harder than normal. He tuned out a lot of things these days, and slept more than he was awake.

 

He thought he remembered something about how sleeping a lot was a bad sign, but he couldn’t remember what it was a bad sign for. What did it matter how much he slept? It wasn’t like there was anything else to do.

 

Besides, the ritual hurt. And now that Dumbledore knew that the ritual would wear off, at least partially, he did it every night to Harry. Harry wasn’t sure why he’d started doing it so frequently, didn’t know if it was because he thought that Harry was still trying to get free, or if he just wanted to maintain total control of Harry at all times.

 

If he’d just give it a few days between rituals, Harry thought that he would have been surprised. Harry had stopped trying to get free long ago, he thought.  Had he stopped trying?  He wasn’t sure.

 

He wasn’t sure of much anymore.

 

The body was talking, and Harry ignored the way that the body’s throat vibrated, the way that the body’s lips and tongue shaped sounds that were words that the body’s ears could process. That Harry’s brain could process, if he paid attention.

 

Harry didn’t want to pay attention.

 

Still, there was a sharp, piercing noise that hurt to listen to, and entirely against his will, Harry found that he was, in fact, paying attention.

 

“So you’re saying that you weren’t looking at Chang today?” Ginny was asking, her voice sharp with irritation.

 

The body’s response was immediate.  Harry felt its cheeks flush, lost control of his eyes which glanced down at the floor. “Of course I wasn’t,” the body said. 

 

Harry wondered, not for the first time, if the body actually had its own personality now, or if that was the ritual talking.  Or maybe it was Dumbledore talking through the body, using it like some kind of puppet. The idea was mildly entertaining, but Harry was diverted from the thought when he felt a stinging heat in the body’s cheek.

 

Ginny had slapped him. Clearly she didn’t believe the body’s lies. “Harry, I thought that we talked about this,” she said coaxingly, even as the body’s cheek stung from being struck. “You don’t need to look at other girls, not when you have me. Why would you want to do that?”

 

“I was just thinking about Quidditch,” the body said, a bit lamely. “You know that Chang is a rival Seeker, and I—”

 

Ginny let out a frustrated little huff.  “Don’t give me that,” she snapped.  Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  She leaned in.  “You know,” she breathed, her voice low and husky. “You know the things that I could ask Dumbledore to do to you under that ritual?”

 

Harry felt what little was left of his heart breaking at the words. He’d thought that Ginny hadn’t known. He hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped that she hadn’t until she revealed that she did. Meanwhile, the body was protesting, saying that she didn’t need to threaten him, that he was more than willing to stay with her, that he loved her anyway.

 

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation. If he’d been in control of his body, he would have been throwing up. He hadn’t minded… he hadn’t enjoyed what Ginny had been doing with him, the way that she’d kissed him and held him and everything, but he hadn’t particularly minded it. It wasn’t like she’d known, he’d reasoned. It wasn’t like she’d realized that he was under a spell.  He’d thought that only Ron and Hermione knew, and to find out otherwise…

 

He wanted to hug himself, but the most he could manage was to make his hand twitch.  And even that freedom would be taken from him with the performance of the ritual once more.  Harry didn’t know what time it was, didn’t know when Dumbledore normally did the ritual, but he couldn’t imagine it was far off.

 

He found himself losing track of time again, drifting in the cold, lonely place that he hid in when he didn’t want to know what the body was doing. It was a small space, he thought, for all that the size of it didn’t matter since he was a noncorporeal being with no control of his body. It was small and safe, kind of like his cupboard.  Maybe that’s why he thought it was small.

 

He tuned in to the body’s drama at the sound of a shouted denial, the body aching all over. The ritual must have been done, Harry thought dully, that was the only thing that ever made the body hurt like that. It wasn’t unlike the Cruciatus Curse, really. Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew that, or if Dumbledore cared if he did.

 

Then he forced himself to stop wondering and start paying attention, because something important was happening. For one thing, Ginny was sitting in the office, and she’d never been there before during the performance of the ritual. Normally it was just Ron and Hermione.

 

Harry wasn’t certain, because he hadn’t been paying attention, but he thought that Ron was the one who’d shouted.

 

His suspicions were confirmed when Dumbledore spoke. “Mr. Weasley, really, I need to ask you to calm yourself,” he snapped. “There’s no need for those kind of dramatics.”

 

“Those kind of…” Ron shook his head, staring at his sister with betrayal in his eyes. “I’d hoped that you didn’t know, Ginny,” he said, sounding heartbroken.

 

Harry could empathize. He’d thought that Ginny hadn’t known also.

 

“Of course I knew, Ron,” Ginny said with a small huff. “Don’t be ridiculous. Did you think that the Headmaster would let me date Harry without warning me that he was under ritual control? I had to be on the lookout for signs of Harry breaking free, just like you did.”

 

Ron shook his head. “He can’t consent to be with you, Ginny,” he said.  “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

 

Ginny just shrugged.  “It’s not his consent that I need, it’s his money. His fame.  Do you realize how wealthy I’ll be when he dies defeating the Dark Lord, leaving his poor young widow the entire Potter fortune?  Do you know what that kind of money could do for our family?”

 

“Our family wouldn’t want that kind of money if they knew how you were getting it,” Ron snapped.

 

“Then you don’t know our family at all!” Ginny shot back.  She shook her head, her red hair dancing in the soft light of the Headmaster’s office. “But that’s neither here nor there. You can object all you want, but I happen to agree with the Headmaster, and so does Mum. I think it’s high time that Harry propose to me.”

 

Harry considered that inside his head, even as the body bowed its head in acquiescence.  Propose to Ginny?  He hated the thought.  Especially now that he knew how much she’d known, knew that she’d been willing to… to do those things to him knowing that he wasn’t consenting to them.

 

He was pretty sure that he hated Ginny.

 

He knew that he hated Hermione, that he hated Dumbledore, that he’d never forgive either of them. Ron, maybe, might one day be forgiven for spying on him for all those years. The redhead was certainly doing everything in his power to protect Harry, Harry had watched him do it often enough.

 

And every night, before the body went to sleep, at least every night that Harry listened, Ron promised that he was going to do everything in his power to get Harry out from under the ritual’s control.  He didn’t know why the body hadn’t told Dumbledore about Ron’s repeated oaths, or maybe the body had.  Maybe he’d told Dumbledore and Dumbledore just didn’t take thought seriously.

 

That sounded like Dumbledore.

 

“And what are you going to do if Harry survives the war?” Ron was saying, his tone belligerent.  They were walking back to the common room now, the body moving without Harry’s control as always.

 

Ginny laughed.  “He can’t,” she said simply.  “Dumbledore’s explained everything to me. There’s no way that Harry’s going to survive what’s coming; the prophecy guarantees it.  So we’ll get married as soon as Mum and Dad agree, and then I’ll be left his widow.”

 

“What if Dad doesn’t agree?” Ron asked, but he sounded like he didn’t even really think of it as a possibility.

 

Harry didn’t think much of that possibility either, to be honest.

 

“Then Mum will change his mind,” Ginny said with a shrug.  “She’s good at that, if you haven’t noticed.”  Her arms were wound around the body, possessive in their embrace, and she didn’t seem to mind that it made walking awkward to have the body so tightly clutched to her.

 

She was treating it like a doll, Harry realized.

 

He hated this.  He hated her, and wanted to see her suffer.  He tuned out the conversation, and wondered just how much Voldemort wanted to make him happy.  Wanted to keep him safe and happy and well cared for.  Did torturing someone who treated him like a doll count, he wondered, as keeping him safe?

 

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself genuinely hoping that the answer was yes.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The next time he tuned back into what the body was doing, he wanted to cry.  It was looking through ring catalogs, right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.  Lavender was on one side of him, Parvati on another, both pointing out their personal favorites.

 

The body was laughing with them, joking along, saying that he wasn’t sure if Ginny would like the same kinds of things.

 

Harry wondered what they would do if they knew he was under ritual control.  Then he laughed at himself.  Who said that they didn’t know?  He hadn’t thought that Ginny had known, after all, and look how that had turned out. Now he was getting ready to get married to her, or rather, the body was.  

 

He wondered if he broke free somehow after the marriage was made official, what would happen to the marriage then?  Was it like a Muggle marriage, that could be annulled when someone was deceived into the marriage? Being under ritual control wasn’t entirely the same thing as being deceived, but Harry couldn’t imagine that the magical world didn’t have some kind of provisions for something like that.

 

After all, the Imperius Curse was a thing, and Harry was certain that people had been forced to wed under the effects of that before.

 

“What about this one?” Lavender said suddenly, jarring Harry’s attention back to the conversation entirely against his will.

 

The body made a noise of approval.  “It’s perfect,” it said.

 

Harry closed his mental eyes and tried to go back to sleep.  He hated this, hated the body, hated Lavender and Parvati even though they didn’t know anything about the ritual.  Hated Hermione. Hated Ginny.  Hated Dumbledore.

 

He supposed now that he just hated.


	20. Chapter Nineteen - Decisions

 

Ron felt sick, watching the way that Harry doted on Ginny.  Well, it wasn’t Harry, not really, and that was the problem, wasn’t it?  He’d hoped… he’d hoped that he’d been wrong, that Ginny hadn’t known about the ritual held Harry under its sway, but after the conversation he’d just had…

 

Ron gritted his teeth and looked away.  His sister was, apparently, just as much a monster as everyone else involved in this mess, and he couldn’t just keep waffling over his decision.  The time had come to act, and Ron… as much as he hated the idea, he knew exactly what he had to do.

 

He managed to pass a note to Malfoy only a day later, asking him to meet Ron in the Room of Requirement once again.  He didn’t know if Malfoy would show up or not, and he didn’t have any way of finding out, so he just headed there after dinner and waited.

 

He was relieved to see that Malfoy had decided to show up, and was lurking rather conspicuously near the statue of Barnabas the Barmy.  When he spotted Ron, he stood up straight.  “Made a decision, then?” he asked, his voice strained, but neutral.  Ron couldn’t be sure, but he thought this was the first time he’d ever heard Malfoy speaking without a sneer in his voice.

 

“I’ll help you,” Ron said, and swallowed the bitter feelings that rose within him as he spoke the words.  Him, helping a Malfoy.  What would his family say?  Ron shoved that thought aside.  What did it matter what they would say?  If they were willing to condone Harry’s ritual binding just so that they could have more money…

 

And to think, once upon a time, when he’d been younger and more stupid, all he’d wanted was Harry’s money.  The reminder of his past thoughts made him sick.

 

Malfoy seemed to deflate all at once.  “Thank you,” he breathed, the words coming out as more of a gasp than anything else.  “Thank you so much.”

 

“I know of several ways in and out of the school that you might not have access to,” Ron said quietly.  He couldn’t look up as he said it, the feeling of betrayal sitting uneasily with him.  Yes, he was saving Harry, but what kind of cost would there be for his actions?

 

“Come with me,” Malfoy said.  “If we give the information directly to Severus, he can take it to the Dark Lord far more quickly than we can.”

 

Ron swallowed the bile that rose within him and tried to ignore his uncertainty.  He was making the right choice.  He had to be, because anything else…  he couldn’t let Harry suffer the way he was.  He just… he couldn’t.

 

Professor Snape opened his doors when Malfoy knocked and raised one eyebrow at the sight of Ron.  Despite his possible surprise, though Ron thought that he didn’t seem all that surprised, he let both boys into his personal rooms with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

 

“Well?” Snape asked.

 

“I know of several entrances to the castle that He Who Must Not Be Named wouldn’t know,” Ron said quietly.  He didn’t look up from the professor’s carpet.

 

“Do you?” Snape sounded neutral, at best, to the idea.

 

“I do,” Ron said.  “There’s the one in the Shrieking Shack, which you should know about, Professor.”  At his words, Snape let out a vicious swear and Ron looked up sharply.  “Sir?”

 

“How could I forget about…”  Snape shook his head.  “Never mind.  What others do you know of?”

 

Ron let out a shaky breath.  “There’s one in the basement of Honeydukes.  Only the twins, Harry, Hermione, myself, and Professor Lupin know about that one.”

 

“Lupin knows?”  The question was short and sharp, and when Ron glanced up, Snape looked murderous.  “You’re sure of that?”  The question was asked in a low, infuriated snarl.

 

Ron couldn’t imagine the source of his rage, and shrugged.  “It was on his map, sir,” he said.  “There’s a passage behind a mirror on the fourth floor, but it’s caved in and I don’t know where it lets out.  Professor Lupin might know; I’m not sure.  And there’s another passage behind a statue of Gregory the Smarmy, but again, I don’t know where it lets out.”

 

“And all of these are from that damned map?” Snape asked.  He was looking down, a strange expression on his face.  The rage had subsided, but Ron didn’t know what was left.

 

“Yes sir,” Ron said.  He hesitated, then said, “Malfoy was going to find out what would happen to the children…”  He trailed off.  He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure how to ask the question he wanted the answer to.

 

“Voldemort has no intention of hurting innocent children,” Snape said.  “He believes them to be the future of our world, and is not interested in eliminating the generation to follow our own.”

 

Ron breathed out and nodded once.  “Okay,” he said.  “And… and he’s… he wants…  he wants Harry to be okay?”

 

“He wants that more than he wants anything in the world,” Snape responded.  “Probably more than he wants Hogwarts to be taken, to be perfectly honest.”  He checked his calendar and nodded.  “And what do you know, Mr. Weasley?  You’re just in time for the Dark Lord to strike on Halloween, if he so chooses.”

 

Ron swallowed.  He glanced at the calendar as well.  October 29th.  Harry had been under the ritual’s control for two months now, and who knew what he’d be like when he finally came out from under it?  The thought was terrifying.  Would he hate Ron?  Would he… would he even have the mental capacity left to hate anyone?

 

“Thank you,” Malfoy said again.  He wasn’t looking at Ron, or at Snape, but was instead staring at his feet.  “I couldn’t… I was trying to figure out the vanishing cabinets, but I couldn’t manage it.  If you hadn’t given us those passages…”

 

Ron just shrugged, uncomfortable.  “I guess I should get back to Gryffindor tower, before someone misses me,” he muttered, not looking at either of them.  “I’ll stay with Harry on Halloween night, keep him safe from any… from any attacks.”  The fact that he would probably be keeping Harry safe from his fellow students, maybe from his sister and Hermione, was horrifying, but Ron could do it.

 

It was the least he could do for Harry.

 

He made his way back up to the tower when his statement met with no dissent, and found that he hadn’t been missed, and in his absence, Harry had proposed to Ginny. Ron felt queasy once more, but for an entirely different reason than before.

 

His sister wasn’t the person he’d thought she was, not if she could do that to Harry.  And his mother wasn’t the person he’d thought of her as, either.  He didn’t know who anyone was, anymore.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Severus didn’t bother waiting to be summoned; instead, he told the Headmaster that he had been and left immediately to report to Voldemort.  He found the Dark Lord in his office, and quickly told him of the passages he’d been informed of.

 

“My concern is that Lupin knew of most of these,” Severus said once he was finished his report.  He knew that he might very well be signing the werewolf’s death warrant with the information, but he found himself furious at the very idea that Lupin could have held the key to Harry’s rescue this entire time.

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.  “Did he?” he asked, his voice silky with irritation.  He stood and stalked from the room, indicating that Severus should follow with a sharp gesture.

 

They found Lupin in the library, reading, a bandage over what could only be a newly-formed Dark Mark.  Severus couldn’t imagine that Lupin had been willing to take that step but wouldn’t have told them about the passages into Hogwarts, but still… what other explanation could there be?

 

The  _ crucio _ that lept from his lord’s lips wasn’t unexpected, and Severus winced when Lupin fell to the ground and began to writhe and scream in agony.  It wasn’t that Severus didn’t think he deserved it, not if he’d concealed the information that Severus believed that he had, it was just that he would have liked to see the werewolf given a chance to explain.

 

Voldemort cancelled the spell and immediately snapped, “Tell me about the secret passages in and out of Hogwarts.”

 

Lupin looked entirely confused, his amber eyes going vague and unfocused.  At first Severus thought it was due to the curse that he’d just been hit with, but as it continued, he realized that it was far more likely to be an act.  Then Lupin said, “Passages?”

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.  “Meet my gaze, wolf,” he snapped.

 

Lupin didn’t hesitate, and met Voldemort’s gaze head-on.  Severus winced when he heard the Dark Lord hiss out an irritated, “ _ Legilimens _ !”  His sympathy grew when Voldemort held the spell for an inordinately long time, until Lupin’s nose began to bleed and his eyes streamed with tears of pain.  When Voldemort released him, Lupin collapsed back to the ground with a small, broken little cry.

 

“He remembers them, but only vaguely, and I had to go digging in his head for them.”  Voldemort sounded utterly disgusted.  “There’s a chance that he’s been made to forget about them somehow, though I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.”

 

“Dumbledore, perhaps?” Severus hazarded.  “If he doubted the wolf’s loyalty, then maybe…”  Still, that didn’t quite feel right either.  Why had Lupin forgotten about the passages?

 

Voldemort shrugged.  “I suppose it’s possible.”  He stood and nudged at Lupin with his toe.  “Get up, wolf.  We go to rescue your precious Harry two days from today, on Halloween night.  I expect that you’ll be wanting to join us?”

 

Despite the pain that he had to be in, Lupin managed to drag himself to his knees and wiped ineffectively at the blood pouring from his nose with the sleeve of his robe.  “Yes, my lord.  I’m sorry that I don’t remember the passages you spoke of.”

 

“That’s a concern for another day,” Voldemort said dismissively.  “I have too much to worry about right now to wonder who’s been mucking about in your head.  Severus, get him to Narcissa and have him looked over.  I was not kind while I searched his mind.”

 

Severus nodded once and carefully helped Lupin to his feet.  “Yes, my lord,” he said. He kept his head bowed until Voldemort had swept away, then began to support Lupin on his way to the Lady Malfoy’s office.  “You truly don’t remember the passages?” he asked  as they walked.

 

Lupin shook his head.  “Not a bit,” he said tiredly.  “I knew of them, you said?  Did I make frequent use of them?”

 

“One of them you used every full moon during your seven years at Hogwarts.  You used them in Harry’s third year, when you went after Sirius Black, so yes, I’d say that you made frequent use of them.”  Severus couldn’t imagine anyone but Dumbledore taking Lupin’s memory of the secret passages.  He was the only person who made sense, though Severus honestly couldn’t imagine why Dumbledore would have done such a thing.

 

What reason could he possibly have had to doubt Lupin’s loyalty?

 

The question would have to wait, if there was even an answer to be found.  Perhaps Dumbledore had started to grow more paranoid as he grew closer to death, although his continued trust in Severus made little sense, in that case.  Or maybe that explained why he hadn’t told Severus about the raid to rescue Harry before it was finished.

 

Either way, they’d arrived at Narcissa’s office and she now fluttering around Lupin, making soft noises of distress.  Severus slipped away and returned immediately to Hogwarts to report to Dumbledore and make up some nonsense about an attack that was going to happen on Halloween.  Diagon Alley seemed like a safe bet, so that’s what he told Dumbledore.

 

The Dark Lord was devoting all of his forces to an attack on Diagon Alley, wanting to bring wizarding commerce to a halt on his favorite day of the year.  It would ensure that all Order members were stationed at Diagon Alley, and would hopefully be unavailable when Dumbledore inevitably called for aid.  Or, if they were available, they wouldn’t get here in time.  Not before Voldemort could take the school.

 

The Headmaster bought the lies, as he bought all of Severus’ lies.  It was easy enough that Severus almost felt guilty duping the old man, but he thought of Lily’s child stuck under the control of that ritual, of Lily’s child being sacrificed because of the horcrux inside of him, and ruthlessly fought down the guilt.

 

It had no place here, not anymore.


	21. Chapter Twenty - Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be advised, people will die in this chapter. It's a war. Nothing's graphic, but there is some death.

 

Something about the faded memories in Lupin’s mind concerned Voldemort.  They weren’t the result of an Obliviate, as such a spell would remove any trace of the erased memory.  He couldn’t be certain, but Voldemort believed the faded memories to be the result of a potion.  

 

If it weren’t for the fact that he trusted Severus implicitly, he might have been concerned that he was the one to make and administer the potion.

 

As a result of his concern, and his growing certainty that there was another spy in his midst, Voldemort chose to give little notice as to the impending attack on Hogwarts.  He made the plans himself, alone, and told no one of the time when the attack was going to begin.

 

An hour before sunset on the thirty-first of October, Voldemort summoned his followers.

 

They appeared before him in waves.  There weren’t as many as he would like, not to take on Hogwarts itself, but there were enough. They would have to be enough.  He would recover Harry, he would take Hogwarts, and in doing so recover his diadem and remove it from Dumbledore’s sphere of influence, and would turn Hogwarts into the new seat of his power.

 

And he would do it using the passageways that Dumbledore doubtlessly thought he didn’t know about.  The old man’s pride would be what brought his defeat, and Voldemort couldn’t help but feel there was a certain amount of propriety in that.

 

As the sun sank low over the horizon, Voldemort called his followers to order.  As always, the room fell completely silent the minute he rose and cleared his throat.

 

“Tonight, my followers, we go to recover things most precious to me,” Voldemort said quietly, his voice carrying over the throngs of his followers.  “Tonight, we return to the place where many of us spent our youth, and we will take it for our own once more.”

 

“Hogwarts, my lord?” Bellatrix asked, her voice breathy with eagerness.

 

“Hogwarts, my loyal one,” Voldemort said.  He smiled, the expression more bloodthirsty than mirthful.  “My followers, many of you may not understand this, but I will tell you now that I wish for the Potter boy to remain unharmed.  If you should come across him in battle, you are to disarm him and subdue him, but do not injure him.  If I should find that you have failed me in this, the consequences will be most severe.”  He glanced from one faceless mask to the next, trying to make it clear that he meant every word that he had said.

 

When no objections were forthcoming, Voldemort nodded once.  “If a student surrenders, they are not to be injured.  They are to be captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, where a small group of you will be staying to keep an eye on them.  I leave it to Greyback to decide who stays here, and who goes to battle.  Other students that I would very much like left alive at this time, other than, of course, your own children, include the Granger bitch, the Weasley girl, and the youngest Weasley boy.  Be as cruel as you wish to the two girls; leave the boy unharmed.”

 

“My lord, with all due respect, why are we concerned with sparing the Weasley boy?”  That was Lucius, even without being able to identify him based on his mask, Voldemort would know the man’s voice.

 

“Is the fact that I said so not reason enough for you, Malfoy?” Voldemort asked, drawing his wand.  He stalked towards Malfoy, and watched as his followers fell away from the man like a sea parting for him.

 

“My lord, that wasn’t what I meant at all,” Lucius said, stumbling over his words in his haste.  “I just… I was confused, my lord, because it’s very different from your normal orders regarding blood traitors.”

 

“The Weasley boy is to be kept safe because, Lucius, he has been instrumental in the planning of this assault,” Voldemort said, his voice pitched low, but still carrying over the crowd.  “And don’t question me again.   _ Crucio! _ ”

 

As Lucius writhed on the ground, Voldemort looked around him.  “Any further complaints about my orders?”

 

When none were forthcoming, Voldemort cancelled the spell on Lucius.  “We will be dividing into two for this attack.  A mere handful of you will be coming with me for the battle, the rest will be going with Greyback.  Those with Greyback, your only job on this mission is to do as much damage as you can to as many people, and to be as loud about it as possible.  You are the distraction for this mission.”

 

Voldemort waited once more for questions, and, since his followers were very good at shutting up and listening when they were told to, was pleased by the lack of them.

 

He divided them easily, having already considered who was going to go where.  As much as he wanted Bellatrix with him for this particular mission, he knew that her talents were better suited to working with Greyback.  It was a small group, in the end, who came with him.  The group included Severus, Lucius, and the Lestrange brothers.  All were quiet and potentially lethal, and Severus knew the school the best of all of them.

 

Voldemort looked around at his followers, glanced at the rapidly darkening sky, and nodded.  “You have two hours to prepare within your groups.  And then we move.”

 

He led his small strike group to his office and settled in his chair.  His Death Eaters milled about for a bit, but eventually settled in various places.  Lucius sat in the chair across from him, the Lestrange brothers took the couch, and Severus leaned against the wall.

 

Voldemort cleared his throat.  “The purpose of our group is to infiltrate the school, as quickly and quietly as we can, and to make our way to the Gryffindor dormitories.  There, we will hopefully retrieve the Potter boy before he can be placed in any danger.”

 

“My lord,” Rodolphus started, but froze when Voldemort turned his gaze on him.  He swallowed.  “Never mind.”

 

“You wonder why I am so concerned for the Potter boy,” Voldemort guessed.  

 

Rodolphus wouldn’t look up, but Rabastan nodded.  “We do, my lord.”

 

“While I will not reveal the exact reason, I can safely assure you that the Potter boy has become incredibly important to me in a way that I could never have anticipated,” Voldemort said.  “And I would be quite put out with anyone who injured him, no matter the reason.”

 

Silence fell within the room, and they waited for the night to deepen so that they could begin their attack.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The Halloween Feast was over, and the children were making their way back to their rooms, working their way to the usual sugar crash that came after all of the sweets they ate during the Feast.  Albus himself settled back with a small, contented sigh.

 

Severus hadn’t been there, a fact which concerned him.  Severus had said that there would be an attack tonight, one on Diagon Alley, and he had sent his Order members there to try and mitigate the damage, but…

 

It was odd, that Voldemort would use Severus in an attack like this.  Dumbledore had thought the information that he fed to Voldemort through Severus was important enough that Voldemort wouldn’t be willing to risk his spy on something like this.

 

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

 

Dumbledore sighed, this one less contented by far, and looked down at his arm.  It was getting worse.  The infection was spreading, and it was only a matter of time before it killed him.  He had hoped, more than anything, that he would have been able to defeat Voldemort before he’d passed, but it looked like that wasn’t going to be the case.

 

Not with the way the war was going.

 

He wasn’t even certain if Harry could fulfil the prophecy while under the ritual’s control.  He’d thought that it applied to the horcrux within the boy, but… if he was wrong…

 

Dumbledore groaned and grabbed a lemon drop from the bowl on the table in the deserted Great Hall.  He popped it into his mouth, but it didn’t help.

 

And then it came.  A Patronus, a tiny, familiar Patronus, that hopped up onto his table and stared at him.  “ _ Diagon Alley is a ruse _ ,” it said to him in a familiar voice, and Albus froze.  “ _ We come now _ .”

 

His most loyal spy, the one that Severus hadn’t even known about, the one that nobody would have suspected, had never given him wrong information.  Dumbledore didn’t hesitate to sound the alarm within the school, to activate every defensive ward she had, and to send out his own Patronus to call his Order to him.

 

He could only pray that it was enough.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Ron stayed up in the dorm when the alarm went off.  Neville, Seamus, and Dean all hurried downstairs to figure out what was going on, to fight if they had to.  Ron, however, wasn’t going to fight.  Not now.  Not with what was coming.  Part of him wanted to tell them to stay put, to surrender, but he knew that they wouldn’t.

 

A quietly whispered  _ Incarcerous _ thrown at Harry ensured that he wouldn’t go to join the battle, either. There was no telling what Dumbledore’s ritual would make him do, and Ron wasn’t willing to wait and find out.  

 

Harry didn’t even realize that he’d been tied up until he went to stand, and if that wasn’t proof of the damage the ritual was doing to him, Ron didn’t know what was.  Harry wouldn’t normally be that slow on the uptake, not when it came to things like being hexed.

 

“Ron, can you help me with these ropes?” Harry asked.  “I can’t imagine how I got myself tangled in them, but I really need to get free.”

 

“I put them there,” Ron said quietly.  He stood up, crossed the room, and grabbed Harry’s wand from its holster, effectively disarming him.  “You should stay out of what’s coming.”  He settled next to Harry, then, and began to adjust the ropes so that they’d be a bit more comfortable, while still holding him securely.

 

“What’s… Ron, what’s going on?”  Harry sounded so confused, his eyes going wide.

 

This wasn’t Harry.  This was Harry, controlled by Dumbledore, and it was painfully obvious that the ritual wasn’t working the way that it used to because Ron was pretty sure that Harry shouldn’t sound so panicked if it was working properly.

 

“We’re going to be fine,” Ron said, keeping his voice calm.  “We’re just going to stay up here and wait.  That’s all.  Everything will be fine.”

 

How strange was it, that Ron was relying on Death Eaters to come for Harry, to keep him safe from the war?  How things had changed…

 

He heard footsteps on the stairs only a few minutes after Harry fell into silence, and drew his wand in preparation.  The alarms had just gone off; there was no way that whoever was coming was a Death Eater.  He just hoped that it wasn’t Dumbledore, because Ron knew that he couldn’t take him in a fight.

 

The door slammed open, and Hermione stared at him from the hallway.  “Ron, what on earth are you two still doing up here?  Death Eaters are attacking the school!  They’ve been spotted inside the castle, and…”  Hermione glanced at Harry, then back at Ron.  “Ron, what did you do?”

 

“This wasn’t right, Hermione,” Ron said.  He didn’t move from his spot on Harry’s bed.  She hadn’t drawn her wand yet, and his was already out.  There was no way she’d beat him if it came to a duel.

 

“Wasn’t… wasn’t right?”  Hermione glanced behind her, then back at Ron with an expression of horror dawning.  “Did you… Ron, did you tell the Death Eaters how to get into the school?”  Her voice went up in pitch and volume, until she was shrieking at him by the end of her question.

 

“I did.”  Ron didn’t look away from her.  “I thought about it, and I worried, and I… if Dumbledore was willing to do this to Harry, to force him under his control, then… what makes him so good of a person?  He had us spying on Harry for years, Hermione!  Who knows what other things he’s been doing to manipulate events?  What makes you so sure that he’s actually working for anything good?”

 

“Working for…”  Hermione shook her head.  “Ron, you idiot, everything that Dumbledore does is for the greater good!  Yes, okay, Harry’s life might be terrible right now, but I swear to you that it’s for the best!  We need Harry to save us, that’s what the prophecy says!”

 

Ron knew nothing about a prophecy, other than that they’d failed to take one from the Department of Mysteries last year.  He just shook his head.  “You’re wrong,” he said quietly.  He hit her with a quiet  _ stupify _ that she never saw coming, and watched as she collapsed backwards.

 

She wasn’t fighting.  He just hoped it would be enough to save her life.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Remus fired off another curse after Professor Sprout, who was retreating rapidly.  He refused to think of the fact that he’d had tea with her several times while he’d been teaching here only a few years ago, refused to think about the fact that he was pretty sure he’d seen Minerva cut down by a gleefully cackling Bellatrix, and tried not to think at all about the students he saw falling before the Death Eater’s wands.

 

Most of them were smart, surrendering their wands as soon as they were cornered, but some of them…

 

Remus would mourn them later, in private, when he had time to do so.  When Harry’s life was no longer at stake.

 

The Headmaster was on the field of battle.  Remus had seen him several times, and he was glad to have seen him.  That meant that there was less chance that he was moving on Harry while the group inside the castle attempted to get to him.

 

It had been a brilliant plan, Remus mused in a lull in the battle.  Most of them had gotten onto the grounds via the Shrieking Shack and the path that let out beneath the Whomping Willow.  They’d swarmed and attacked in the most obvious way possible, drawing the majority of the castle’s defenders outside.  And then, once they’d done that, Voldemort and his small group snuck through the passage beneath Honeydukes.

 

It had been a brilliant plan, and as Order members started to arrive at Hogwarts and face the massacre that the Death Eaters had begun, Remus knew that it had worked.

 

This was all just clean-up, he mused, as he fired off a curse at an arriving red-head.  He couldn’t tell which Weasley it was, and at this point, it probably didn’t matter.  Ron would likely be the only survivor of the clan soon enough.

 

Remus fired off another curse and tried to block the thoughts from his mind.  He didn’t have time to worry about them.  No one was more surprised than him when that curse was the one that brought down Dumbledore himself, rendering the old man unconscious.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

With the chaos outside of the castle, Severus found it pathetically easy to lead his group through Hogwarts, towards Gryffindor tower.  At most, they ran into a few stragglers, those who had already been asleep and were waking up to join the battle.  Most of them surrendered when faced with Voldemort himself, although one or two students were foolish enough to attempt to take him on.

 

The Longbottom boy, in particular, would be mourned by Dumbledore, assuming the old man survived the night.  He would likely have hoped to use him as a backup for fulfilling the prophecy.

 

Gryffindor Tower, when they reached it, was quiet.  He led them up the stairs, towards the boys dormitories, and frowned.  The Granger girl was unconscious in the doorway to Harry’s room, bound with ropes.  When Severus stepped over her, he found Ron sitting on Harry’s bed, next to a tied up and confused Harry, who began to struggle as soon as the Death Eaters entered the room.

 

“I couldn’t let him join the fight,” Ron explained.  He handed Harry’s wand to Voldemort, looking at the floor the whole time.  “I didn’t want him to get hurt, and I didn’t know what the ritual would compel him to do.”

 

“Let me go, Ron, I have to kill him!” Harry was shrieking.

 

Severus glanced at the Dark Lord, who nodded once.  He pulled a potion from his robes, one that he’d prepared for just this eventuality, and tipped it down Harry’s throat.  It would do nothing to free him from the ritual, but it would make him sleep for a time.  Hopefully, until they could figure out how to release him.

 

“You’ve done well, Ron Weasley,” Voldemort said, his voice a low hiss.  “Unfortunately, you must understand that I’m not willing to trust you just yet.”

 

Ron nodded.  “I understand,” he said, and did not fight when Voldemort ordered Severus to render him unconscious.

 

Severus did so, and remained in the tower with Lucius and the Lestrange brothers while Voldemort went to the field of battle.  When he looked out the window, though, Severus saw that the fighting was mostly complete, and that it was the Death Eaters who were still standing.

 

They’d done it. They’d taken Hogwarts, and they’d rescued Harry.  Whether or not they were in time to rescue his sanity, however, remained to be seen.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One - The Prisoners' Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of torture in this chapter. Take care of yourselves!

 

Ron woke up in a dormitory that wasn’t his own, but at least seemed similar.  He couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he thought that he was still in Gryffindor Tower.  When he opened the door to the bedroom, he found a black-robed, white-masked person guarding his door.

 

The unknown Death Eater glanced down at Ron.  “Do you need something?”

 

“No, I was just checking to see where I was,” Ron said.  “I assume that I’m not to leave this room?”

 

“For now, no,” the Death Eater responded.  “My lord has said that he will come by later to speak with you regarding your place within our organization.  If you don’t need anything, I would like to request that you return to the room.”

 

Ron didn’t think twice about closing the door.  His place in the Death Eaters’ organization.  Merlin.  What a thought!  But then… that was where this was headed, wasn’t it?  He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew he shouldn’t.  He’d given out the way to get into the school, and he’d done it with only a small amount of hesitation.  He was pretty sure that made him as good as a Death Eater now, even if he didn’t think he’d ever take the Dark Mark.

 

Ron shuddered at the very idea.

 

He sat on the bed he’d woken up in for a long time, then sighed.  He stood and stretched, then went back to the door.  When the Death Eater glanced at him, Ron asked, “Could I have some parchment and a quill, please?  I’d like to write some things down.”

 

He didn’t know if they’d captured the Headmaster, after all, and even if they had, he didn’t think the old man would be willing to just hand over the information about the ritual he’d done on Harry.  Anything that Ron could remember about it would likely be a help to the Dark Lord when it came to breaking the spell.

 

“I can provide that,” the Death Eater said.  “I’ll knock when it’s here.”

 

Ron hesitated before closing the door.  “Do you…”  He stopped and cleared his throat.  “Do you happen to know if my sister was killed in the fighting?”

 

“She was not,” the Death Eater responded.  “I believe that she’s being held in a much less comfortable cell.  And… while she was not killed during the battle, Mr. Weasley, I think that it’s fair to say that you can’t expect her to live too long.”

 

Ron closed his eyes.  “Thanks,” he muttered.  He closed the door again and swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat.

 

He’d hoped for Ginny’s survival, but the Death Eater’s words made that sound unlikely.  As much as he’d hoped that his sister would make it, Ron couldn’t say that he was that surprised.  Of course Voldemort would be furious.  She’d gotten herself engaged to Harry, likely entirely against his will!  And, apparently, Voldemort was very worried about things that made Harry happy.

 

If that was the case, then it was likely that Hermione wouldn’t last too long either.  Not after her betrayals.  And Ron?  He let out a small, bitter laugh.  Given the way that he’d betrayed Harry earlier in their friendship, for so many years, he’d be surprised if he lasted once they had Harry free.

 

A small voice in the back of his mind pointed out that it wouldn’t be a problem if Harry never got free, and Ron shoved that voice as far down as he could.  No.  That kind of thinking was what had allowed him to betray Harry for years on end.  He wasn’t giving in to that again.

 

As soon as the parchment and quill arrived, along with some ink, Ron settled down on the bed, on his stomach, and started to write down everything he could remember about the ritual, and about Harry’s behavior while under its effects.

 

He just hoped that it would help.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Ginny paced the length of the small, barren room she’d found herself thrown in at the end of the battle.  She was tired, she was cold, and she was, embarrassingly enough, completely naked.  That wasn’t the worst part, though.  After all, nobody was watching her, so being naked wasn’t that bad, aside from the chill that it brought.

 

The most frustrating thing was that she had no idea where she was, having been blinded when she’d been dragged here, but she knew that she was still in Hogwarts.  She just didn’t know where she was in Hogwarts.

 

She didn’t understand what had happened.  She’d been fighting alongside Luna and several other members of the DA.  They’d been cut down when they’d refused to surrender, but she had been spared.  It didn’t make sense!

 

Why would the Death Eaters let her live?  Was it because she was worth more as leverage?

 

That didn’t make sense either, though.  Susan Bones had been one of those to fall under the Death Eaters’ wands, and with her being related to Amelia Bones, surely she would have been the more valuable piece of leverage.  Maybe it was that the Weasleys had something that the Dark Lord wanted?

 

Well.  They would be in for a surprise, then.  Her parents were good, honest people.  As much as they loved her, they would never negotiate with the Dark Lord for her release.  They didn’t have the money to pay a ransom, and they would never do anything to help him.

 

Ginny sighed.  She was tired, having been pacing since she’d first woken up.  The floor was filthy, covered in a thin layer of some kind of dirty film, and her bare feet were coated in whatever it was.  They were also freezing, but there wasn’t any way for her to get warm.

 

With a sigh, she finally collapsed onto the floor, only to leap to her feet when her body received a jolt of some kind.  It hurt, burned, and raced through her whole body.  Ginny looked around, frantic and frightened, but nobody was in the cell with her, and nobody was outside, either.  That she could see, anyway.

 

She swallowed and tried to sit once more.  Once again, as soon as her butt touched the filthy stone, she was hit with another painful jolt.  She shrieked and stood, shivering in the cold, her whole body aching with pain.

 

“That’s not fair!” she shouted.  Nobody answered her.

 

Ginny was tired, she hurt, and she was freezing, but she was also a clever girl.  If she couldn’t sit down, well, that was fine.  She could lean on the wall.  That would work, right?

 

As soon as her arm brushed against the wall, her body began to burn fiercely.  She screamed in agony and tried to pull away, but she couldn’t move her arm.  It was almost like it was stuck to the wall, and the longer her flesh touched the wall, the more she burned.

 

By the time she finally managed to pull away, her arm felt almost like it had been cooked and she couldn’t stop crying.

 

“I hate you,” she gasped out through her sobs.

 

A cold, distant laugh was the only response she received.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Hermione woke with a groan.  She sat up and raked her hands through her hair, trying to remember… anything, really.  Her head felt like it was filled with fog, and she couldn’t make sense of anything at all.  She closed her eyes and rubbed at them, but they flew open when she felt the sensation of something crawling over her.

 

When she looked, there was nothing there.  Just her own naked legs, and that was the point where she realized that she was naked in a cold stone cell, somewhere in the wizarding world, judging by the torches on the walls outside of the cell, and the candle on the desk that was pressed flush against the right wall of the cell.

 

There was a book on the desk, and Hermione stood on shaky legs to cross the room.  She felt things brushing against her, furry things, but there was nothing there whenever she stopped to look.

 

The book was mostly blank, and there was a quill next to it made of a black feather.  There was no ink.  The only thing written in the book was a single instruction.   _ For every relevant sin that you confess, you will earn a comfort _ .

 

Hermione stalked away from the book and tried to ignore the way that she could still feel  _ things _ brushing up against her in the dark of her cell.  She didn’t have any sins to confess, and she would never be desperate enough to write with a Blood Quill.

 

She turned her attention to her cell, instead.  She examined the stone pattern beneath her feet, and decided that she was likely still within Hogwarts.  The stones matched the patterns she saw in the dungeons when in Potions class.

 

She remembered going to see why Ron was staying in the dorms… why wouldn’t he be?  It had been after dinner that… that the alarms sounded.  The school had been attacked!

 

Hermione looked up, but again, nobody was out there.  She was still alone, still confused, and still cold and naked.

 

The school had been attacked, and Ron hadn’t fought.  And he’d stopped Harry from fighting.  Ron had… betrayed them?  It seemed impossible, but yet, nothing else was making sense.  Was that what had happened?

 

She shivered.

 

Was it just her, or was the cell getting colder?  Did it matter if it was just her, since she was the only person in the cell?  Either way, now that she’d started shivering, Hermione was finding it impossible to stop.  And it didn’t matter that she was looking and could see that nothing was touching her, she could still feel the things touching her.

 

She let out a frightened little sob.  The book said that if she wrote in it, if she confessed a sin, she would earn a comfort.  What sins did she have to confess?

 

Hermione crossed the room to look at the book again.  Writing with a Blood Quill couldn’t be that bad, could it?

 

She sat in the chair, her legs practically giving out under her as soon as she gave them permission to bend.  How long had she been down here, anyway?  She didn’t know anything anymore.

 

She picked up the quill.  She thought about what sins the book could want from her, and decided that it must have to do with Harry.  Well, those weren’t really her sins, she’d only been doing what was necessary for the greater good, but if it would make the cell warmer, or do something about the creepy ghost sensations…

 

Hermione put the quill down, intending to write that she had spied on Harry since she’d first come to Hogwarts.  Instead, she found herself writing  _ When I was two months old, I vomited on my mother’s head _ .

 

Unlike Harry’s experience with the quill, the sentence carved itself into her skin as soon as she wrote the words, rather than taking multiple times with the same line.  Like Harry’s experience with Umbridge, the pain was excruciating.

 

Hermione tried to drop the quill and found that she couldn’t.  Her hand continued to write, detailing another wrong she’d done when she was just a baby, this sentence carved somewhere else on her body, her back, judging by the way that it burned.

 

She screamed and started to beg, tears streaming down her face.

 

Silence was the only answer she received.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Albus didn’t move from the bed placed in the very center of the cell he’d been thrown in.  He didn’t know how Voldemort had managed to coax the castle into creating an actual dungeon, and he didn’t care.  This was, at most, a minor setback.  He would be out of here soon enough, and he’d be able to put his plan back on track.

 

Maybe not with Harry, not anymore, because there was no way he’d get close to the boy again after he’d captured him once, but there was always Neville.  Assuming, of course, that the boy had survived the Death Eater’s assault on the school.

 

The Dark had to be defeated, and Albus knew that he was the only one who orchestrate its end.  The thought of dying before he could accomplish that…  Albus took a deep breath.  It wouldn’t happen.  He could get out of this.

 

It was only a matter of time before…

 

Footsteps approached, and Albus brightened.  He sat up and smiled.  “Ah.  Hello, dear boy,” he said to his spy.

 

The man wouldn’t look him in the eye.  “Dumbledore,” he said.  His head was bowed, and he looked nervous. Then again, he always looked nervous.

 

“Have you come to release me?” Albus asked.  “I think I’ve spent enough time in this cell, don’t you?”

 

His spy shook his head rapidly, staring down at his right hand.  “Can’t do that, Headmaster,” he said quickly.  “Can’t do it.  If I did…”  He shivered.  “It would kill me.  The hand. It would.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear boy,” Albus said soothingly.  “I know that things haven’t gone as you’d hoped, and I know that you’re starting to waver in your faith, but you must believe that I know the way to the true defeat of the Dark.  Didn’t you believe me all those years ago, when I told you that you had to tell the Dark Lord the secret?”

 

Peter looked up at him, and Albus could still see the frightened boy he’d pressed into joining the Death Eaters all those years ago.  Part of him grieved for that boy, and for the fact that there was no chance that Peter would make it out of this war alive, but the rest of him brushed it away.  Small sacrifices had to be made in order to assure the best possible outcome for the majority.

 

“Peter,” he started, when Peter took a step back.  “Peter, you cannot waver now!  We’ve come too far down this path—”

 

“I’ve done what you told me to for years,” Peter snapped, and Albus could honestly say that he hadn’t expected the sudden fury from the boy.  “I’ve betrayed friends, I’ve hidden memories that could hurt your precious cause with that damned potion, I’ve given up my own damned hand to resurrect the Dark Lord, and all that’s happened is that Hogwarts has fallen to the Dark, my only living friend hates me, and the son of one of my best friends is probably going to be mad if they can even break through whatever you’ve done to him.”

 

“Peter—”

 

“I’m done, Albus.”  Peter swallowed, staring down at his hand.  “I’m done.  You do what you want.  Tell them who your last spy is, let Voldemort kill me, I don’t care anymore.  I’ll take my chances with Lily and James and Sirius on the other side.  I quit.”

 

Peter walked away, his footsteps receding into the dark, leaving Albus staring in shock behind him.

 

That couldn’t be it.  He couldn’t have lost.  Not now.  Not when he was so close!  Not when…  Albus stared down at his own hand, where the disease still lurked, contained only by the grace of luck itself.

 

He couldn’t lose, not when he was staring Death itself in the face.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two - Investigation

 

“The Weasley boy is our best chance of figuring out what ritual Dumbledore has been using,” the Dark Lord said quietly.

 

Remus blinked.  “I wasn’t aware that he had anything to do with the ritual,” he said.

 

Voldemort shrugged.  “He’s apparently been watching.  He asked for parchment and a quill to record what he can remember, but he might not know what things are important.  I’d like for you and Severus to speak with him regarding his memories, while I discuss the ritual with Dumbledore.”

 

Remus didn’t need Voldemort to say that ‘discuss’ meant nothing of the kind.  “Why do you want me there?” he asked instead.  And then he winced when Voldemort’s wand twitched.  “Not that I’m unwilling,” he added hastily.  “Because that’s not the case.  I’m more than happy to be of assistance, I want Harry free as much as anyone else, I’m just not sure that I’ll be of any help.”

 

“Severus doesn’t get along particularly well with most of his students,” Voldemort said shortly.  “You, I am given to understand, were an exceptional teacher when you were here.  I’m certain that the Weasley boy will respond better to you and Severus than to Severus alone.”

 

Remus wasn’t so sure about that at all.  After all, the last time Ron had seen him, he’d been firmly on the side of the Light.  Then again, so had Ron.  “It would, of course, be my pleasure to be of assistance,” he said finally.  He dropped into a low bow.

 

Voldemort snorted.  “Go on, then.  Severus is waiting for you in Gryffindor Tower.”

 

Remus excused himself immediately and walked through the school.  Voldemort had set up shop in Dumbledore’s old office, and the rest of the school looked much the same as it had when Remus had been teaching.  He had little doubt that it would change greatly under Voldemort’s occupation, and while a part of Remus mourned the changes to come, the rest of him knew that he didn’t have time to think about it.

 

He made it to the Tower without being bothered, and found himself facing one of the boy’s dormitories in short order, Severus at his side.  He went to knock, but stopped when Severus grabbed his wrist.

 

“Are you ready for this?” Severus asked quietly.

 

Remus hesitated.  “I don’t know,” he said finally.  Ron was the first person other than Severus who would know that he was a Death Eater.

 

“Are you prepared for there to be a bad reaction?” Severus didn’t let go of his wrist, and if Remus wasn’t wrong, he thought that Severus might be trying to offer him some pre-emptive comfort.  “Not that I think that he will react poorly, but just in case…”

 

Remus drew in a deep breath.  “I don’t know,” he said again.  “But this does seem to be our best chance at freeing Harry, and Voldemort seems to think that it will go easier if I’m here.”

 

Severus shrugged, then released his wrist.  “Then, if you think you’re ready,” he said, and nodded at the door.

 

Remus sucked in another breath, then raised his hand and knocked sharply.  It was moments later that the door opened, and he was greeted by Ron’s shocked face.  “Might we come in, Mr. Weasley?” he asked politely.

 

“P-professor Lupin?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.  “I didn’t know that you were… captured…”  He trailed off and looked down at Remus’ arm, where his Dark Mark was bared for anyone to see.  Ron swallowed, then, and stepped back.  “Right.  Come in, then.”

 

Remus and Severus stepped into the room and let the door fall closed.  Remus waited a minute to see if Ron was going to say anything about his changed status, but when Ron said nothing, Remus sighed.  “I hear that you’ve been writing down your memories of the ritual?” he asked.

 

Ron nodded, went to the bed, and returned with a thick roll of parchment.  “I’ve seen it a number of times,” he said.  “So I wrote down what I could remember.  I also took note of how quickly the ritual seemed to decay.”

 

“It decayed?” Severus asked sharply.

 

Ron flinched and took a step back.  “I don’t… I mean, that is to say, it… well…”

 

“Anything could be important,” Remus said gently.  “If the ritual seemed to lose its effects, we need to know that.”

 

Ron closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  “It did seem to decay.  He wrote a message asking for help, once, though that was at the beginning of his time under the spell.  Hermione took him to the Headmaster immediately, and after that, Dumbledore started doing the ritual every other day.”

 

“Interesting,” Severus murmured.  Remus glanced at him, but his eyes were distant.  “Was there anything else you noticed about the decay of the effects?”

 

Ron shook his head.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I just… we don’t study ritual magic here at all, so I didn’t know what would be important.  I didn’t pay much attention to what it looked like just before Dumbledore re-did the ritual.”

 

Severus sighed.  “Thank you,” he said, the words short and sharp.  He took the roll of parchment from Ron and turned to leave.

 

Remus offered Ron a small smile.  “If you can think of anything else, please let us know.  We’d all like to get Harry free as soon as possible.”

 

Ron nodded.  “If I can think of anything else, I’ll call for you.”

 

Remus turned to leave as well, and he’d just gone to leave when Ron let out a small noise.  When he turned around, he found Ron frowning.  “I don’t think I wrote it down, but towards the end, Dumbledore was doing the ritual every night.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said shortly.

 

The door swung closed behind them, and Remus followed Severus out of the tower.  Once they’d left, Remus asked, “Does his information help?”

 

Severus shrugged.  “Every bit of information helps at this point,” he said.  “I don’t think that Voldemort is going to have much luck getting information out of Dumbledore, so we’re going to need to piece this together on our own.”

 

Remus frowned.  “If Dumbledore isn’t going to be a help, then why did Voldemort want him spared during the fighting?”

 

Severus looked at him like he was an idiot.  “Because he wanted to make sure that Dumbledore suffered before he died, of course.  Death in battle was too good for Dumbledore.”

 

Once Severus said it, Remus felt like an idiot.  Of course that had been Voldemort’s intention.  “Right,” he muttered, his cheeks heating at his idiocy.  “I should have realized that.”

 

Severus frowned.  “Don’t feel stupid,” he said shortly.  “It’s not a bad thing that your mind doesn’t immediately go in that direction, after all.”

 

Remus’ eyes widened and his cheeks heated for an entirely different reason.  “Thanks,” he muttered.  He stared down at his feet for the rest of their walk, and when they arrived in Voldemort’s office, quietly started reading through one of the pieces of parchment that Severus handed him.

 

There was a chance that the key to Harry’s rescue was in these pieces of parchment, and Remus would be certain to miss nothing.  He wouldn’t fail Harry, not in this.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort knew that there was little chance of getting information out of Dumbledore.  It was for that reason that Voldemort decided to make a small detour.  If Dumbledore wasn’t going to talk anyway, then Voldemort wouldn’t hurt anything by waiting a few minutes to see him.

 

The hospital wing was nowhere near the cells, and because Voldemort hadn’t made his decision until he’d already arrived at the entrance to the dungeons, he had to do a significant amount of backtracking to reach it.  He didn’t regret his decision.  Not when he saw Harry, his horcrux, lying on a bed in a private room, Draco sitting next to him, the blonde’s eyes fixed unerringly on Harry’s slack face.  There were various and assorted monitoring spells on Harry, designed to let their Healers know if something was going wrong with the magically induced coma he was currently stuck in.

 

“He’s been sleeping peacefully?” Voldemort asked Draco, who hadn’t noticed him entering the room, judging by the way the boy jumped.

 

“My Lord!” Draco scrambled to his feet and dropped into a low bow.  “My apologies, I didn’t hear you enter.”

 

Voldemort waved the gesture off.  “It’s fine,” he said dismissively.  “How has he been?”

 

Draco glanced down at the boy in the bed.  “He has been sleeping peacefully, sort of,” he said.  He pointed at one of the visible monitoring spells, indicating the way that it wiggled and writhed like a living thing.  “That’s his consciousness,” he said.  The motion in the line slowed, and then it turned into something more flat, more natural looking.

 

“What does that mean?” Voldemort asked.  Then he shook his head.  “I suppose that’s a conversation I should have with Narcissa, isn’t it?”

 

Draco shook his head.  “Mother told me what it meant,” he said quietly.  He reached out and stroked a hand over Harry’s forehead, the gesture tender.

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, and he fought back the ugly feeling of jealousy.  If Draco was what the boy wanted… and besides, what did he have to be jealous about?  It wasn’t like he wanted a relationship with his horcrux… right?

 

“And it means?” he snapped.  He didn’t quite regret it, but he did feel the slightest bit of guilt at the way that Draco jumped.

 

Draco swallowed.  “It means that he’s awake in there,” Draco whispered.  He stroked his hand over Harry’s forehead again, and Voldemort watched as Draco’s eyes watered.  “That’s the real him.  He must feel like he’s in a cage.  Mother said that he’s probably been conscious most of the time, but when the line goes flat like that, he’s sleeping.  She’s been looking for a way to put the rest of him into the coma as well, but nothing’s worked yet.”

 

“At least he can sleep, and has some respite from this,” Voldemort muttered.  He rubbed at his brow.  “Keep me updated.  Let me know if anything changes with his status.”

 

He left the room before Draco could respond, and returned to the dungeons, a fire burning inside of him.  Harry could sleep, and that was all he could do.  All the control he had over himself.  He’d thought that he couldn’t hate Dumbledore more than he already did,  but now… 

 

The anger he’d felt earlier paled in comparison to the anger he felt at this new information.  He slammed into the cell where Dumbledore was being kept, his wand out.

 

He would get information from him, one way or another.

 

“ _ Crucio _ !” he snapped, before he could even ask Dumbledore a question.

 

The old man didn’t dodge, didn’t manage to roll away from the curse before it struck him.  Voldemort savored the pleasure of watching him writhe on the bed in agony for several minutes before cancelling the spell.

 

“You know why I’m here,” he said simply.  He did not make the mistake of opening the cell, because he had little doubt that Dumbledore was wily enough to free himself if given the opportunity.

 

Dumbledore panted, trying to catch his breath.  “It doesn’t have to go like this, Tom,” the old man said, his voice hoarse with pain.  “It isn’t too late for you to turn away from the path you’ve chosen to walk.  You can surrender, and I promise that you will receive a merciful death.”

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he wondered if Dumbledore wasn’t actually losing his mind.  He was old, after all, and while wizards didn’t tend to be affected by Muggle diseases like dementia, there was a chance that…

 

He shook off the thought.  Whether he was sane or not, it didn’t matter.  He still had information that Voldemort needed, and getting it wouldn’t be easy.  Unless… unless Dumbledore realized that he didn’t actually stand a chance even if he could escape.

 

“I’m not going to release you, Dumbledore,” Voldemort said.  He shifted, lowering his wand and leaning against the bars to Dumbledore’s cell.  “And even if I did, what do you imagine would happen?  I would die myself before letting Harry fall back into your hands.”  Then he let out a little laugh.  “And his Healers have orders to kill him if you come for him.”

 

Dumbledore sighed.  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said.  He sat up, looking more frail than Voldemort had ever seen him.  “But Tom, you know that Harry wasn’t the only child who could fulfil the prophecy, not that you even know the entire thing.”

 

“Longbottom is dead,” Voldemort said, and smiled as he said it.  He was rewarded with the color draining from Dumbledore’s face.  “He died when we breached the school.  It wasn’t myself who killed him, but one of my Death Eaters did it right in front of me.”

 

Dumbledore lifted a hand to clutch at his heart, like it was hurting him.  He’d gone ashen, and Voldemort was concerned enough to actually cast a diagnostic spell at the old man.  The spell revealed that nothing was wrong, and Voldemort relaxed.

 

“Stop your dramatics, old man, and accept that you’ve lost.”  He leaned forward, pressing his face against the bars.  “Tell me how to free Harry, and I promise that I’ll give you a clean, merciful death.”

 

Dumbledore’s laugh was shaky, but genuine.  “I don’t believe that for a minute, Tom,” he said.  He closed his eyes and laid back down.  “I’m not going to help you in this.  You can try invading my mind, and you can try torturing me, but you won’t succeed in breaking me.  And eventually, one of my people will get me out of here.”

 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.  “Oh, will they?” he asked.  He took a step back.  He’d left no one in the castle who was openly loyal to the Headmaster, not aside from the two girls in the dungeons.  All of the students had already been sent back to their families.  Surely Dumbledore didn’t think that he would be stupid enough to…

 

“Ahh, you’re talking about your other spy,” Voldemort said, and smiled.  

 

He was rewarded once more with Dumbledore’s shocked expression.  Really, the old man had no poker face.  “You know about him, then?” Dumbledore asked, his voice tired and almost broken.

 

“I didn’t know for sure until just now,” Voldemort acknowledged.  “But I’ve suspected ever since Lupin revealed that he had no recollection of the secret passages into Hogwarts.”

 

Dumbledore let out a small noise.  “How did you manage to turn him, Tom?  He was one of my most loyal followers.”

 

Voldemort shook his head.  “That doesn’t matter, old man.”  He turned around and began to walk away.  “I’ll come back later, and let you know when we’ve found a way to free Harry.  I’m sure that you’ll be glad to hear all about it.”

 

“You know, Remus was instrumental in our finding Harry in the first place!” Dumbledore called after him.

 

Voldemort froze, his hands clenching into fists.  He spun around and jerked forward, so that he was pressed against the bars once more.  “What did you say?” he asked, his voice coming out in an infuriated hiss.  If he’d been betrayed…

 

“We couldn’t have found Harry without Remus,” Dumbledore repeated.  He smiled.  “You know, I was so worried when he disappeared, but he gave us Harry’s location soon enough.  I can’t say how glad I was when we got the information from him.”

 

Voldemort said nothing more, but turned his back on Dumbledore’s cage and stalked away from him once more, his fists clenched, his whole body trembling with rage.

 

He would get to the bottom of this, and assure himself of Lupin’s loyalties once and for all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
>  
> 
> Just a head’s up, updates for the month of July will be sporadic.  I’m working on this story and Feathers and Fireballs this month, along with something original, but I’ve got a lot of events coming up (like a convention where I’m going to be selling my original works, and a week-long family trip that I can’t get out of), and I don’t know when I’ll be able to post anything.
> 
>  
> 
> So, updates may not happen on Fridays this month, and they probably won’t happen every week, but they will still be happening.  Thanks for your patience!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three - Loyalty

 

They’d only just begun sorting through the information that Ron had given them when Remus heard the door open.  He didn’t look up from the parchment he was reading through, and thus was taken completely by surprise when he heard the Dark Lord shout, “ _ Crucio _ !”

 

The spell hit him from behind, and then all that Remus knew was pain.  He screamed, he writhed, he begged, but it didn’t stop for what felt like an eternity.  It was a pain worse than the turning that he underwent every month, a pain worse than any he’d ever known, and it wasn’t stopping.

 

And then it did, the spell cutting off as abruptly as it had begun.  His whole body was trembling with the aftereffects of it, and his head was pounding.  He couldn’t quite see right; everything seemed blurry.  He opened his mouth to speak, to ask what had happened, and found that he couldn’t manage to say anything.  His throat hurt too much.

 

“My Lord?” Severus’ voice was hesitant, and when Remus managed to turn his head to look at the man, he was on his knees, his head bowed so low that it was nearly touching the ground.  His voice was distorted, muffled, like it was coming through water or from another room.

 

Remus turned his gaze back to Voldemort and the room spun around him.  He tried once more to speak, but couldn’t manage to say anything once more.

 

“I’m not interested in words from you, you filthy—”  Voldemort drew in a hissing breath.  “Keep your eyes open, and don’t you dare attempt to look away or block me, wolf.”

 

Remus didn’t think that he could manage to block whatever it was that Voldemort had planned, and so he didn’t try.  And then, for the second time in recent memory, his mind was torn into.  He screamed, the sound loud and helpless, and all that it did was hurt his throat even more.

 

When it was over once more, he could feel the blood streaming from his nose, and his eyes were even blurrier than they had been.  His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t manage to move at all, not even to sit up.  He just let out a small, broken noise, and kept himself limp.

 

He hoped that it was over.  He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong.

 

“Dammit!” Voldemort snarled.  There was the sound of something breaking, but Remus couldn’t manage to look and see what had happened.

 

“My Lord?” Severus asked again, his voice just as cautious as it had been before.

 

“Dumbledore told me that they found Harry through Lupin,” Voldemort ground out.  “He wouldn’t tell me anything more than that, leaving me to infer that Lupin was a double agent.”

 

Remus let out a small noise of protest, but he still couldn’t find any words.  It was like they were gone.  He just hoped that they would come back; he didn’t like being speechless.

 

Severus muttered something, and Remus couldn’t catch what it was.  Voldemort, apparently, could, because he let out a wordless growl.

 

“Get him to Narcissa again,” Voldemort muttered.  “And perhaps it will soothe both him and yourself to know that I didn’t detect a shred of disloyalty in him, in spite of his doubts.”

 

“My lord, I had little doubt of Remus’ loyalty.”  There was a moment of silence, and Remus felt gentle hands on him, lifting him from the floor.  He closed his eyes and leaned into Severus.  Then, Severus murmured, “Perhaps my lord should remember, when next he goes to engage with Dumbledore, that the man is a master of manipulation, and he’s been cornered.  He’s undoubtedly pulling out every trick he has, trying to get you on the defensive.”

 

Voldemort growled once more.  “Yes, Severus, I am aware,” he snapped.  “Now get him out of here, and leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Severus said smoothly, and then they were moving.

 

Remus felt the world going black as they left the office, and he didn’t try to fight it.  He hurt too much to worry about keeping conscious.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

When he woke again, he was in the hospital wing.  He’d spent enough time there when he was in school to recognize it without even opening his eyes, so he didn’t try to.  He just rested, enjoying the lack of pain and the floaty feeling that came with pain-numbing potions.

 

He heard footsteps approaching, and then Narcissa’s cool voice said, “I know that you’re awake, Remus.  I need to check you over for neurological damage, given how long he kept you under that damned curse again.  And what he did to your head, as well.”

 

Remus sighed.  “I don’t know if I can move,” he said tiredly.  His throat still ached, even under the effects of the potion, and his body, now that he was awake and focusing on it, was sore.  He wasn’t sure that moving was a good idea.

 

“I don’t need you to move, but I do need you to open your eyes,” Narcissa answered.  “Can you do that for me?”

 

Remus didn’t want to do anything of the sort, but he managed to force himself to do it.  The bright lights almost blinded him, and things were still a bit blurry until he blinked a few times.  Then, Narcissa’s face came into focus, as did the fact that Severus was sitting in the chair beside him, his eyes closed, snoring faintly.  

 

“Has he been here the entire time?” Remus asked, even though he didn’t know how long he’d been there, either.

 

“Since earlier this afternoon, yes,” Narcissa said.  “It’s been about three hours since you lost consciousness.  Now, I realize this is the last thing that you want, but hold still, and don’t blink, Remus.”

 

Remus winced and braced himself.  “Got it,” he said, remembering the procedure from the last time Voldemort had shredded his mind.

 

“ _ Legilimens _ ,” Narcissa breathed, and she slipped into his mind.  Her presence was nothing like Voldemort’s, which was always abrasive and sharp, burning with rage in a way that made Remus’ mind burn.  Narcissa’s mind was soft and cool, and spread through his own like a balm.

 

It took everything in him not to close his eyes and relax into the touch on his mind.

 

Eventually, Narcissa pulled back as carefully as she’d entered.  “Your mind looks to be recovering nicely.”  She glanced down at his hands, and Remus realized that they had a fine tremble that they’d never had before.  “That hasn’t gone away, though,” she muttered.  She tapped her finger against her lips, then frowned and shook her head.  “And it might not.  You should probably avoid being hit with the Cruciatus Curse again.”

 

Remus couldn’t help the burst of laughter that exploded from him, though there was no humor in the laugh.  Avoid getting hit with the curse.  Right.  Because he’d gone out of his way to incite its use upon him both of the other times Voldemort had held it on him.

 

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Narcissa said, her voice soft and sympathetic.  “I want you in here for at least another day or so, so that I can keep an eye on you and make sure that you’re recovering properly.  You hit your head on your way to the ground when the Dark Lord cursed you, and there might still be complications left from that.”

 

Remus sighed.  “Okay,” he said tiredly.  He didn’t bother protesting, because he knew it wouldn’t do any good.  He was stuck here for the time being, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he minded.

 

After all, Voldemort probably wouldn’t do more damage to him if he was already in a hospital bed, right?

 

And to think, he’d been so sure that he was making the right decision.  Because he was making it for Harry, who would always have his complete loyalty.  But he wouldn’t be any good to Harry if he couldn’t even hold a wand, and with the way that things were going, there was every chance that he’d reach that point sooner rather than later.

 

Remus closed his eyes and tried to ignore the depressing thoughts that were filling his mind, tried to shut out the world and go back to sleep.  Eventually, it worked.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Peter slipped into the hospital wing quietly.  He’d heard that Remus was there, and he knew that Harry was as well.  He didn’t think that he’d be able to get in to see Harry, wasn’t even sure that he wanted to, but he would like to know that his former friend was okay.

 

To think, it had come to this.  Dumbledore defeated, in spite of all of his maneuvering, and Remus on the side of the Dark Lord.  Peter couldn’t decide if James and Lily and Sirius were rolling in their graves or were cheering him on, and he didn’t want to know.

 

Remus looked awful, his face ashen against the white of the sheets.  There was a hint of blood left around his nose, around his neck as well, and a bit in his hairline, where he hadn’t quite been cleaned properly.  Part of Peter wanted to clean off said blood, but the rest of him was far smarter than that.

 

He drew in a deep breath.  “I’m so sorry, Remus,” he whispered.  He reached out to touch Remus, to take his hand, something, but froze when he heard a sharply indrawn breath.

 

“And tell me, rat, what might you be apologizing for?” Severus asked sharply.  He hadn’t even noticed the Potions Master lurking by Remus’ bedside.

 

Peter let out a small, tired sigh.  Some spy he was.  He never noticed the obvious things, never managed to get the right information in time.  Except for a handful of times, and what disasters those turned out to be...  “I’m sorry that things turned out this way, Snape,” he said.  He stepped back and tucked his hands behind his back.  “I just wanted to see if he’s okay.”

 

“He’s not, and now that you’ve seen that, I suggest that you leave.”  Severus’ glare was like fire, and Peter flinched back from it.  “He won’t thank you for being here.”

 

“No, I’d imagine that he wouldn’t,” Peter agreed.  “Just… if I’m not here when he wakes up, Snape, would you tell him that I’m sorry?”

 

Severus’ brow furrowed.  “Why wouldn’t you be here, rat?”

 

Peter smiled, his lips quirking ever so slightly.  “Because I’m pretty sure our lord is going to kill me as soon as I go to see him.”  He dipped his head in a nod of farewell and slipped from the room before Severus could react to his words.

 

He walked the familiar path to the Headmaster’s office.  Of course, Dumbledore wasn’t there anymore, but Voldemort was.  And Peter though that it was time to come clean.  He wouldn’t be able to survive what was coming, he knew that much, because Voldemort would never forgive him for the depths of his betrayal.  The most he could hope for was securing himself the cleanest death possible.

 

It wasn’t much, but then, Peter had always known that this war would be the death of him.  Between working both sides and having already faked his death once, there really had been no question of coming out of all of this alive.  He supposed he should count himself lucky for having survived as long as he had.  And it hadn’t been all that bad living as a rat.  The food had been decent, at least, since Ron had fed him off of table scraps.

 

He reached Voldemort’s new office and took a deep breath as he climbed the stairs.  He drew in another one before knocking respectfully on the Dark Lord’s door.  This was it.  This was likely one of his last hours on earth, and he supposed that there were worse ways to go out.

 

He steeled himself, then knocked on the door.

 

“Go away!” Voldemort snapped.

 

Peter winced.  Then he drew in a deep breath and said, “My lord, I have news of the ritual that Dumbledore used on the Potter boy.”

 

A short silence followed his pronouncement, and then the door slammed open, and Voldemort stood before him with his eyes sparking in fury.  “And how would you know about it, Wormtail?” he hissed.

 

Peter dropped to his knees.  “My lord, because I was the one who discovered the ritual for Albus almost twenty years ago, when Albus was looking for a potential way to control James Potter,” he said, and didn’t dare raise his eyes.  When silence met his words, he swallowed hard and continued.  “I can tell you how to break it.  I can tell you how to perform it, if you should wish to do so.”

 

“The only thing sparing you, Wormtail, is your knowledge of this ritual,” Voldemort said stiffly.  He backed up a step.  “Get into my office, right now, and tell me everything you need to know.”

 

Peter drew in another deep breath.  “Before I do so, my lord, I have a request.”

 

“You think that you’re in a position to make requests of me?” Voldemort roared.  Peter heard him spout off a bit of Latin, and heard something behind him explode.

 

Peter didn’t flinch.  “I believe that my lord would find this fitting,” he said quietly.  “I know that I am dead, as soon as I tell you all that I know.  I acknowledge and accept that fact.  I have betrayed you in too many ways for far too long for you to accept me back into your fold.”

 

“Then ask me your favor, Wormtail,” Voldemort growled.

 

“Breaking the ritual requires a death, a blood sacrifice,” Peter said.  He still didn’t look up.  “I would like very much to be the sacrifice used.”

 

There was a long silence, and then Voldemort said coolly, “You will tell me everything you know, and then I will consider your request.”

 

It was the best answer that he was going to get, and Peter accepted it with a nod of his head.  He stood and followed Voldemort into his office, and tried not to think about how final the sound of the door closing was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  And, back from vacation and the convention.  Vacation was boring, convention was terrible.  Here’s a new chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, it occurs to me that I don’t think I’ve mentioned that I have a tumblr you all can find me at.  I can be found as wizardingwordsmith if anyone is interested.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four - The Ritual

 

In what might have been the first good thing since Harry was first abducted from France, the ritual that Peter revealed to Voldemort wasn’t a terribly complicated one, and the one to counter it was… Voldemort hesitated to say that it was easy, but…

 

As long as Peter wasn’t lying to him, and Voldemort knew that he wasn’t, had made  _ certain _ that he wasn’t, then he would be able to complete the ritual that would restore Harry that evening.

 

He stared down at Peter, at the traitor who had made Harry’s capture possible, but who had also given Voldemort the means to break the spell, and let out a small sigh.  He could hold him, torture him, break him until nothing remained of him but a quivering mass of flesh.  But that would mean sacrificing someone else in the ritual, likely someone who Voldemort found himself wanting to keep alive and torture longer.

 

The ritual demanded a clean death, after all, via a slit throat.

 

“I find myself inclined to grant your wish,” Voldemort said finally, into the silence that stretched between himself and the rat.  “You have until nightfall to get your affairs in order.  Do I need to keep a guard on you?”

 

Peter let out a small laugh.  “Probably,” the man said.  He didn’t look at Voldemort.  “There’s a good chance that I’ll try to run, regardless of my best intentions.”

 

Voldemort’s eyebrow twitched, but he called for Bellatrix.  The woman was, as always, prompt in her appearance.  “Peter will be assisting me in the ritual to free Harry,” he said to her.  “Keep an eye on him and see to it that he doesn’t choose to flee.”

 

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but she dipped into a low curtsey.  “As my lord asks.”

 

As he swept from his office, book with the ritual he needed as well as the one that had been performed on Harry in hand, he heard her asking Peter, “Why on earth am I playing guard to you today?”

 

As the door closed behind him, he heard Peter respond, “Because I’m going to die tonight,” in a voice that didn’t shake.

 

Voldemort supposed that was the famed Gryffindor courage that he’d never seen in Peter, but shook the thought off.  He didn’t admire the man, and never would.  He was a traitor, and the fact that his treachery had proven useful to Voldemort in this one instance didn’t negate the damage he’d done to Voldemort’s cause over the years.

 

He headed for the hospital wing, where he found Lupin conscious, looking wan and fragile.  Severus sat by his side, and the two were having a low-voiced conversation.  Beyond them, Voldemort could see the private room where Harry rested, in something as close to slumber as they could provide.

 

No more.  That would all be better at sundown.

 

Lupin froze upon seeing him, what little color in his cheeks draining away.  “My Lord,” Lupin whispered, dropping his gaze.

 

“Lupin,” Voldemort said, and felt a small flare of guilt.  He shoved that aside.  He’d done what he had to do to ascertain Lupin’s loyalty, and Lupin would survive.  Perhaps not undamaged, given the remaining trembling in his hands, but he would be mostly fine.  “Severus, I have need of you.”

 

Severus rose immediately.  “Yes, my lord?”

 

Voldemort consulted the book in his hand.  “I need a cleansing potion brewed.  Two of them, before sundown.  You can manage that, can you not?”

 

Severus blinked.  “Of course.”  He hesitated, then held out his hand.  “If I might see which potions you need, specifically?”

 

Voldemort paused, then handed the book over.  “This is the ritual to free Harry,” he said, a bit awkwardly.  He wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable about anything, and being in Lupin’s presence, while still feeling just the slightest bit of guilt…  He didn’t like it.

 

Severus’ eyes, meanwhile, had widened.  “My lord, you’ve found it?” he breathed.  His eyes were moving rapidly over the page.  “Yes, of course I can get these done by sundown.  Are you sure that this is the ritual you need?”

 

Voldemort would have protested being questioned, but he understood Severus’ skepticism.  “The person who found the ritual for Dumbledore is the one who gave me that ritual,” he said.  “He had a… change of heart, I suppose.”

 

Severus’ eyes narrowed, but he handed the book back.  “The ritual calls for a blood sacrifice, my lord,” he said.

 

“I am aware.”  Voldemort studied the words on the page, then looked back up at Severus.  “Fortunately, we have a willing volunteer.  Given that his life was forfeit anyway for betraying me several times, I am inclined to use him as he’s requested.”

 

Severus asked no more questions, and instead dropped into a low bow.  “Then, with your permission my lord, I would like to get started on the potions, so that I can make certain that they are ready by sundown.”

 

“Go.”  Voldemort waited until Severus had bowed and left the room before glancing once more at Lupin.  And once again, he felt that awful feeling of guilt stirring inside of him once more.  Hadn’t he gotten rid of his conscience years ago?  “My apologies, Lupin,” he said stiffly, and the feeling of guilt eased inside of him as soon as he’d said it.  “Twice now I have doubted your loyalty, and twice it has been without cause.  I will make certain that it does not happen a third time.”

 

Lupin opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and bowed his head.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

Voldemort hesitated, then swept away from Lupin’s bedside and entered Harry’s bedroom with a tap on the door.  Narcissa was in there, studying one of the monitoring spells, and Draco sat by Harry’s bedside as he always did.  The boy was asleep, his forehead resting on Harry’s bedsheets.  

 

Narcissa’s eyes darted to Voldemort as he walked in.  “Have you given me another new patient, my lord?” she asked, the sarcasm thick in her voice.

 

Were it from anyone but his best healer, he wouldn’t have tolerated such a tone.  As it was, Voldemort’s hand twitched towards his wand before he could stop himself.  He drew in a deep breath, let it out, and forced his hand to relax.  “I have not,” he said sharply.  “As a matter of fact, it is my intention to hopefully remove a patient from your care very soon.”

 

Narcissa’s eyes widened, but only slightly.  “And which patient would that be?” she asked.  “Because I can assure you, neither Remus nor Harry are fit to be left without care at this moment in time.”

 

“I have the ritual to free Harry,” Voldemort said, and had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen.  “And I intend to use it at sundown, unless you can present to me a compelling reason why I should wait.”

 

Narcissa swallowed.  “No, my lord.”  Then her eyes narrowed.  “Although, I have the feeling that Harry will be remaining a patient of mine for a long time to come.  He won’t emerge from this ritual unscathed, you know.”

 

Voldemort knew that there was little chance of Harry being mentally intact when he came out of the ritual, but… there was a small part of him that hoped that Harry would be fine, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.  “I am aware,” was all that he said out loud.  “Can you and Draco transport Harry to the Great Hall at sundown?”

 

Narcissa nodded.  “Of course, my lord,” she said with a small bow.  “Was there anything else you needed, or can I go back to making sure Harry doesn’t grow ill between now and then?”

 

“Is he in danger of that?” Voldemort asked, alarmed.

 

Narcissa just stared at him, her eyes dark with irritation.  “Not at the moment, no,” she said.  “But I’d like to continue to make sure of that, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

Voldemort hesitated, then took a step back.  Angering the healer was never a good idea, and Narcissa had been more volatile than not as of late.  “Of course,” he said quickly, and turned and left Harry’s room.  Not because he was fleeing, just… because he had somewhere else to be.  Somewhere important.

 

Like his office.  Where he would study the ritual, and pace, and hope that everything worked well at sundown.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Time ticked by, but there was nothing for him to do but pace and wonder whether or not his plans would come to fruition.  It wasn’t like Albus could escape his cell, given that he didn’t have his wand and the cell seemed to have magic-suppressing qualities to it.  He’d already tried to access his wandless magic, and had failed miserably.

 

And Peter hadn’t been by again, not since he’d told Albus that he was done.

 

Surely this couldn’t be the end of everything he’d worked for?  Perhaps, even if Neville was dead, and Albus’ heart broke at the thought, perhaps Harry could still be a viable option.  He was still under the ritual’s control, after all, even if by now it would have decayed significantly.

 

For the first time, Albus regretted that he hadn’t been forced to use the ritual on James all those years ago.  If he had, he might have known that the control it offered decayed rapidly and would have searched for a different ritual, one that offered something more permanent in the way of control.

 

Well, it was too late for wishes and would haves.

 

Albus heard a sound, and then a dark blue spell shot through the glass and struck him in the chest.  He fell backwards, unable to speak or move, but still fully conscious, and the front of his cell faded away.

 

Voldemort entered, a smirk on his face.  “Old man, are you ready?” he asked.  He levitated Albus, then started to walk.  “I thought you might like to watch as all of your plans failed,” he said conversationally.  “Peter gave me the ritual you used, and the one that I could use to reverse it.”

 

Albus’ heart almost stopped.  He couldn’t have.  Peter couldn’t have been so foolish!  To free Harry at this point, especially with Neville dead, would be the end of the Light and would lead to the certain triumph of the Dark!  There was no way that Harry would ever kill Voldemort, not knowing that it was what Albus had wanted him to do all along, not after Albus had been the one to imprison him with the ritual.

 

He was brought into the Great Hall, a room much changed since the time he’d last seen it.  Gone were the house flags, the long tables for the students, even the teacher’s table.  There were small tables scattered throughout the room, but for the most part, the hall had changed to standing room only.  Aside from the ostentatious throne placed in the very center of the hall, on the raised dais that had once housed the teacher’s table.

 

There were three other chairs on that dais at the moment, two of them occupied by Ginny and Hermione.  They were each contained, naked, within what looked to be a glass cell, and were bound and secured, and were gagged as well.  Albus was taken to the third chair, the one in the center, where he was bound and secured much as they were.  Voldemort cast a small spell, and Albus found himself as encased in glass as Ginny and Hermione were.

 

“Now, Albus, enjoy the show,” Voldemort crooned.

 

Harry was brought into the Great Hall, unresisting, and Death Eaters filed in after him.  Albus’ heart broke to see Remus among those filing in, and Severus as well.  He’d failed them both, in the end.  He’d hoped that they would be able to understand why he did what he did, but it was clear, judging by the hatred in their respective gazes as they looked at him, that they never would.

 

When Ron entered, flanked by two Death Eaters, Hermione began to struggle next to him, shrieking her rage, muffled by her gag.  Albus wanted to console her, to tell her that Ron had always doubted and there was nothing she could have done, but he couldn’t speak, and could not project his words into her mind.

 

Harry was lowered to the ground, on a conjured mattress, and Narcissa Malfoy stayed by his side as the sun kissed the horizon and the ritual began.

 

Albus watched as Voldemort chanted, as Peter knelt for the sacrifice, as his world crumbled and all of his plans were ruined, and knew, in the moment that Harry’s form was swallowed by a dark, angry red light, that there was no coming back from this.

 

It was over.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry’s eyes snapped open.  He stared up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, his whole body shaking.  The body.  His body?  He could… he could move his hand.  He could make his hand move!  He opened his mouth and felt his lips respond, made a sound and felt his vocal chords vibrate.  He had… he had control?  Did he?

 

Harry sat up and looked around.  He was surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters, and there was Peter’s corpse in front of him, pale from blood loss, his head dangling limply.  Like Nearly Headless Nick.

 

“I’m free?” he asked, his voice shaking.  It was his voice.  He wanted to say the words, and he did, and it worked just like that.  It was easy.  He could say whatever he wanted to say.  He could say…  “Abracadabra,” he muttered.  He could say nonsense if he wanted!  He clenched his fist, because he could clench his fist.

 

“You’re free, Harry,” Voldemort said, kneeling in front of him.  His voice was soft, gentle, and Harry stared at him.  “We’ve set you free from the ritual,” he said.  He reached out, and Harry shivered as he felt his cheek touched by gentle hands.  His cheek.  Not the body’s.  Not Dumbledore’s.  His.

 

“Free,” he said.  The word tasted good on his lips.  Freedom.  He had freedom.  He had…  his eyes drifted past Voldemort, to the scores of Death Eaters, to Ron… to Ron, who had worked so hard to get him free, who had been so kind to him when he was stuck under the ritual.  To Draco, standing as close to the dais as he could be...  Harry remembered….

 

He started to cry, great, heaving sobs that wracked his frame.  He lifted his hands to cover his face, his hotly burning face that was damp from the salty, hot tears that fell from his eyes.  His eyes.  He was free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Happy birthday to Harry!  I was gonna make everyone wait until Friday and restart my weekly updates, but in honor of Harry’s birthday, I figured I’d do two updates this week.  Friday updates resume this week.
> 
> Also, please join me in a sigh of relief that Harry is now free and can now begin to recover.  I thought it particularly appropriate to post this one on his birthday.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five - Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  Graphic torture/character death in this chapter.  If you’re concerned, don’t read the middle scene.

 

Strong arms wrapped around him, and it took Harry a long time to realize that Voldemort was the one holding him so tightly.  Once he realized that, he let himself go limp in Voldemort’s arms.  He was safe there.  Voldemort had done nothing but help him since he’d found out that Harry was his horcrux.

 

He lifted one weak hand and twisted it in Voldemort’s robes, and reached out with his other, in the general direction of Draco.  He heard Draco asking, “My lord?”

 

“Of course,” Voldemort responded, and then Draco was taking Harry’s hand and squeezing it.

 

Harry tugged on Draco’s hand, tugged him closer, until Draco was at his back.  Once Draco was there, Harry made the body… made himself let go of Voldemort and sit back.  His head ached, his body felt weak, like it wasn’t quite his own, even though it was, he had control, he could clench his fist and he could speak if he wanted.

 

He tested it again.  “Supercalifragilistic,” he muttered to himself.  It worked again.  His vocal chords vibrated, and he heard himself saying the words.  He was in control of his own body.  He was no longer trapped inside of his own head, stuck observing himself from the inside.  He was safe again.

 

“Harry, can you say something that isn’t nonsense?” Voldemort asked, his voice urgent.

 

“Why?” Harry asked, blankly.  What did it matter what he said?  Nonsense meant that he was in control.  The body never spoke nonsense.  It only said what Dumbledore wanted it to say, and Dumbledore wanted the body to fit in to the student population.

 

“Because we need to make sure that you can,” a woman’s voice said.  Narcissa’s.  He remembered her.  They’d spent part of the summer together, before Draco.  Before everything had gone to hell.

 

“I can, I think.”  His voice shook.  He closed his eyes and leaned back against Draco, everything suddenly overwhelming.  It had been so dark for the past few days…  He’d been alone, except for the fact that he’d heard Draco talking to him, saying soft, kind things to him.  Reading to him, sometimes.  Whenever he’d been awake, stuck in the dark, Draco had been there…  Keeping him safe.  Helping to keep him sane.  If he even was sane.

 

“That’s good, Harry,” Voldemort said softly, soothingly.  “How are you feeling?”

 

Tired.  Harry was tired.  Being in charge of his own body was exhausting, especially since Harry hadn’t slept well when he was not quite alone in the dark.  He wanted to go to sleep.  He never wanted to sleep again.  “Tired,” he said, finally realizing that he hadn’t said anything out loud.

 

His vocal chords still worked, and that was amazing.  He opened his eyes and looked down at his left hand.  His fist clenched on command.  It was a miracle he never thought he’d see again.

 

And then he caught sight of something, and Harry’s eyes burned with a sudden, fresh bout of tears.  “Why are they here?” he asked, his voice suddenly harsh, suddenly more of a growl than anything human.

 

Dumbledore was watching.  Ginny and Hermione, too, stuck behind some kind of glass wall.  Harry’s whole body burned with rage, with fury at the sight of them.  “Why are they still alive?” he shouted.  He got to his feet, or tried to.

 

His legs didn’t want to cooperate.  They shook under him, and gave out before he could do more than get to his knees.  “Why are they here?” he asked again, more plaintively.  He turned his gaze on Voldemort, who was watching him with a strange expression on his face.

 

“Do you want them dead, Harry?” Voldemort asked softly, his voice warm and… affectionate?  Maybe?

 

“Yes,” Harry hissed, the word halfway to parseltongue.  “I want them to suffer!  I want them…”  His voice broke, and he bowed his head as tears welled up in his eyes.  “I want them to suffer,” he said again.  Like he’d suffered.  He wanted them to be trapped and helpless and hurting and…. he wanted them to feel agony like no other, he wanted…

 

“I can arrange for that,” Voldemort whispered, and Harry felt a gentle hand on his cheek.  “For the Granger girl, and the Weaselette.  But Harry, darling, I’m afraid that Dumbledore cannot be allowed to live long enough for that kind of torture.”

 

Harry shivered.  That made sense.  Dumbledore was dangerous.  He was the one who’d arranged for Harry’s capture, the one who’d done the ritual on him over and over again, the one who’d forced Ron to spy on him even after Ron had tried to quit…  

 

“Is that okay?” Voldemort asked.  He stroked his hand over Harry’s cheek, the touch tender and careful.  “Can I kill him for you, right now?”

 

“Can you make it hurt?” Harry asked quietly.  He wanted it to hurt, more than he wanted anything else.  Dumbledore deserved to hurt the way that Harry had hurt, but if that wasn’t possible, then Harry would settle for anything that Voldemort could give him.

 

“Oh, Harry, of course I can.”  Voldemort stroked Harry’s cheek one more time, a gentle caress, then stood and faced Dumbledore, and Harry felt something dark, something like glee and anticipation and rage, curling in his stomach.

 

He smiled and leaned further back against Draco, prepared for the show that was to come.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Could he make it hurt?  Harry had no idea what he looked like when he asked things like that, with his big green eyes still wet with tears, staring up at Voldemort through his eyelashes.  Could he make it hurt?  Voldemort could do so much more than that, and he would, for Harry.

 

“Oh, Harry, of course I can,” Voldemort said.  He patted Harry on the cheek and stood.  He turned and smiled at Dumbledore.  “Did you hear that, Albus?” he asked, his smile turning into something more of a smirk.  “He wants me to make you suffer.”  He removed the gag from Dumbledore’s mouth.  Harry would want to hear the sounds that he made, Voldemort thought.

 

Dumbledore had gone shockingly pale, and looked every year of his age.  “Tom, you don’t have to do this,” the old man said, his voice coming out more fragile than Voldemort had ever heard.  “It isn’t too late,” he added, but it seemed like he was just going through the motions.

 

“Oh, I really do, and I promise that it’s far too late,” Voldemort said.  He dispelled the glass that held Dumbledore, but kept him bound to his chair.  “Aside from my dear Harry asking me to make you suffer, something I’m quite inclined to do anyway, I need to kill you.  You’re far too good at manipulation for me to leave you alive.”

 

Dumbledore laughed and looked out into the crowd, where Voldemort knew that his eyes were meeting Lupin’s.  “Tricked you into torturing the traitor of a wolf one time too many, did I?” Dumbledore asked, a slight twinkle returning to his eyes.

 

“ _ Crucio _ !” Voldemort snapped in return, and watched as Dumbledore writhed in his bindings, screaming in agony.  He held the spell for a moment or two longer than he normally did, and then released it.  Insanity was too good for Dumbledore.  If he drove the man crazy, after all, then there was a chance that Dumbledore wouldn’t feel what was coming to him.

 

And Voldemort wanted him to  _ feel _ it.

 

He began his work with a spell he had little use for, normally, one that would prevent Dumbledore from losing consciousness.  Then he cast another spell, a simple cutting spell, that took off the tip of one of Dumbledore’s fingers.  He cauterized the wound, then cut out Dumbledore’s tongue when the man tried to speak, followed by another two fingertips, and one ear.

 

Then he paused and studied his handiwork.  “Narcissa, be a dear and monitor the old man?”  He cut off another joint from Dumbledore’s fingers, this time not a fingertip.  “I wouldn’t want him to die before I’m ready.”

 

“As my lord wills it,” Narcissa said, her voice only shaking a little.  She came to stand beside him and cast a basic monitoring spell on Dumbledore, her wand not wavering at all.

 

Voldemort continued his task, cutting away at Dumbledore piece by piece by piece, until his fingers were gone, his toes as well, and he’d lost both of his ears and his nose.  The old man was moaning incoherently at this point, his eyes rolled up in his head.  Voldemort cast another cutting spell, and with this one carved into Dumbledore’s chest, slicing until he could see the bones of his ribcage.  Once again, he cauterized the wounds before continuing.

 

He took one of Dumbledore’s hands at the wrist, then took the other.  He took his feet, one by one, and then Narcissa cleared her throat.  “My lord, he is beginning to deteriorate.”

 

Voldemort sighed.  His fun, it seemed, was about to be cut short.  “Very well,” he said.  He considered what he wanted to do to, then smiled.  Burning at the stake came to mind, but that lacked a certain style and required an amount of setup that he simply didn’t have time for.  He lifted his wand, twitched it in a counterclockwise figure-eight, then hissed, “ _ Intus auteum ignis _ !*” 

 

Dumbledore arched in his seat and screamed, the sound a desperate and broken shriek that gurgled at the end.  A light began to shine through his stomach, and up through his ribcage, until he had burned alive from the inside out.

 

It was over.  Dumbledore was dead, and Voldemort had, essentially, won the war.  Yes, there was still the Ministry to deal with, but that… that would be easy.  Dumbledore was dead, his precious Order left leaderless.

 

Voldemort had won.  When the roar rose up behind him, a cheer from his gathered Death Eaters, Voldemort turned and bowed to them, before turning his attention to Harry.

 

“Was it everything you wanted?” he asked his horcrux, who was staring at him, his eyes wide.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry watched as Dumbledore was tortured, cut into bits, and then burned from the inside out.  It was… it was amazing, to watch the man who had hurt him so badly be hurt in return.  He didn’t know what to say, how to thank Voldemort for doing that for him.

 

“Harry,” Draco prodded.  “The Dark Lord asked you a question.”

 

Harry hadn’t even heard it.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  He looked at Draco.  “I didn’t hear it.”

 

“I asked if it was everything you wanted,” Voldemort said, repeating himself without any ire.

 

Harry drew in a deep, shaky breath.  “It was magnificent,” he whispered.  He ducked his head.  To think, Voldemort had done that because he’d asked…  It would have been safer to kill Dumbledore cleanly, quickly, and instead he’d risked the old man escaping, getting away, so that Harry could see him suffer…

 

“I’m glad you liked it,” Voldemort said.  He knelt in front of Harry.  “I have some business to attend to now, so I’m going to have you wait for me in one of the side rooms.  Is that okay?”

 

Harry blinked up at him.  Was that okay?  He didn’t…  “Can Draco come?” he asked, his voice small.  If he was alone… what happened if something went wrong, if the ritual took him back under control?  What if it wasn’t gone, what if he lost control of himself and couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, what if the body wasn’t his anymore?

 

“Of course he can,” Voldemort said.  He touched Harry’s hair, his hand gentle, and then pulled back.  “And perhaps you’d like to speak with Remus, and maybe Ron?”

 

Remus?  Professor Lupin?  Harry looked into the crowd full of faces he didn’t know, didn’t recognize, and found Remus looking back at him, wearing a set of Death Eater robes, his eyes tired.  There was a bit of red on his face, dried blood it looked like, under his nose, but he was smiling hesitantly at Harry.  And beyond him, with a handful of Slytherin children, was Ron, who looked so painfully awkward and uncomfortable, who didn’t belong among the Death Eaters at all, but was there for him.

 

“Yes,” Harry said, and looked at Voldemort once more.  “Both of them?  I can see them both?”

 

“Absolutely,” Voldemort said.  “Why don’t you get settled with Draco, and then they’ll come to see you one by one?  How does that sound?”

 

It sounded perfect, because Harry didn’t think he was up to talking more than one on one.  “Thank you,” he whispered, and closed his eyes and leaned back against Draco.  “I don’t know if I can stand,” he added, because he should probably admit that.

 

“I’m not surprised,” Narcissa said.  “There’s no telling what sorts of things you’ll need to relearn after being under the ritual’s control for so long.”  She knelt in front of him.  “My lord, may I assist Draco in getting Harry to the side room?”

 

“Of course,” Voldemort said with an almost dismissive wave of his hand.

 

Narcissa turned back to Harry.  “May I cast on you?” she asked.  “Just a spell to lift you up, so that we can move you to the side room until our lord is ready to come to you.”

 

Harry nodded.  He appreciated being asked.  It was kind of her to do so.

 

Narcissa smiled, and he realized that he’d said the last out loud.  He hadn’t meant to.  That was something else he’d have to work on.  Talking when he didn’t mean to talk.

 

Then he was being lifted into the air, and Draco was walking with him to the side room, followed by Narcissa.  It was the room he’d been in once before, when he’d been chosen as a Triwizard Champion.  The memories associated with the room weren’t exactly pleasant, but at least it didn’t look like it had before.

 

Draco and Narcissa helped him settle in an armchair, and a blanket was laid over his lap.  Harry wasn’t sure he needed it, but he appreciated the warmth.  Then Draco touched his shoulder.  “Shall I get the first of your visitors?” he asked.

 

Harry hesitated, then shook his head.  “I want to talk to you, first,” he said, a bit hesitantly.  He did want to talk to Draco, but he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

 

What words did he have for the boy who’d sat by his bedside for almost an entire week, talking to him whenever he was awake?  What thanks could he possibly give for that kindness?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Latin courtesy of Google translate, so it’s probably not super accurate.  It allegedly means something like burning from the inside.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six - Reunions

 

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, drawing Harry’s attention to her.  “Would you like me to go?” she asked politely.

 

Harry hesitated.  Yes, he did want her gone.  He didn’t want to try and figure out what he was going to say to Draco, to the friend that had betrayed Dumbledore for him, to the professor he didn’t know very well but hoped to get to know better, with her in the room.  He just didn’t know her that well.  But he knew that he probably wasn’t in the best of health, and sending her away maybe wasn’t the best idea.

 

The silence stretched on, and Draco gently prompted, “You need to answer her.”  There was no judgment in his voice, and Harry didn’t think that he had a preference one way or another for an answer.

 

He didn’t want her to stay.  Draco could call her if something went wrong.  He looked at her expectantly, and she just smiled at him, not moving.  He hadn’t spoken out loud.  Right.  He had to remember that he could do that, now.  “Please go,” Harry said quietly.

 

Narcissa’s smile softened.  “Of course.”  She hesitated, though, before leaving.  “Harry, might I cast a monitoring spell on you?  I’ll wait outside, and it will summon me if anything does happen to go wrong while I’m not watching.”

 

Harry hesitated, then nodded once.  His head moved in a jerking motion, because he wasn’t used to moving his own head anymore.  It was strange, being in control of his own body again.  He clenched his left fist a few times to remind himself that he could.  He was in control.  It was his body.  Not Dumbledore’s or anyone else’s.

 

Narcissa cast her spell, then left the room, closing the door behind her.  Harry closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair.  It was comfortable, and he was very tired.  Being through a ritual and being in control of himself again was tiring, it turned out.  But he wanted to talk to Draco, and to Ron and Remus, he just… he just didn’t know what he was going to say.  And he should probably have some idea of it before he tried talking, right?  Wasn’t that how things worked?

 

He opened his eyes to find Draco watching him, his gaze intense.  “Are you okay?” Draco asked.  He was frowning, his brow furrowed.  His voice still sounded a little raw, even though Harry knew he’d been given a healing potion for it.

 

He was worried about him, Harry realized.  “I think so,” he said finally.  He looked down at his hands, at his left one that twitched every so often without his permission.  It didn’t bother him, and if he wasn’t looking at it, he didn’t even realize it was happening.  It was probably a side effect of trying to move it so often when he was under the ritual’s control.  “You talked yourself hoarse while the body was in a coma,” Harry finally said.

 

Draco swallowed.  “I… it looked like it calmed you down when I was talking,” he said.  “And Mother had potions for me that kept me from doing any actual damage to my voice.”

 

“I really appreciated that you did that for me,” Harry said.  He looked away, his cheeks heating.  He was blushing.  Of course he was; it was embarrassing to try and thank Draco like he was.  “It meant… it meant a lot to me,” he mumbled.

 

“I’d do it again if you needed me to,” Draco said.

 

Harry was startled by a touch on his hand, by Draco’s hands curling over his own.  He looked back at Draco to find that he was kneeling on the floor in front of Harry.  “Draco,” Harry started.  He didn’t know if he was comfortable with that kind of… devotion?  Was that the right word?

 

Draco shook his head.  “You don’t understand,” Draco said.  “I get that.  But you… you were my responsibility when you were taken, and I…”  Draco swallowed, and Harry was horrified to see that tears were welling up in the blonde’s eyes.  “We’d only just started being friends, and it was something I’d wanted my entire life.  And then you were taken, and you weren’t  _ you _ anymore, and I… I was afraid.  And if talking to you was the only thing that I could do to help, then I was going to talk to you until you didn’t need me to anymore.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry breathed.  There was so much that he wanted to say, but the words welled up within him and got blocked because they were all trying to come out at once.  He wanted to tell Draco that it wasn’t his fault that Harry had been captured, wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to do what he’d done, that Harry would have been fine, and he wanted to say that he was glad that he was Draco’s friend.

 

But he couldn’t, because the words wouldn’t come.  Instead, he turned his hands under Draco’s and gripped Draco’s hands.  Then he tugged, pulling Draco closer to him, and hugged him.  He felt Draco stiffen in his embrace, and just as Harry was about to pull back, Draco sagged in his arms and returned the embrace.

 

Harry couldn’t have said how long they stayed like that, but he didn’t care.  He did, eventually, pull back, and offer Draco a shy, embarrassed smile.  His words came back, and he was able to say, “I’m really glad that you’re my friend, Draco.”

 

Draco’s smile wasn’t shy or embarrassed, but was bright and bold.  “I’m very glad that you’re my friend, too.”  He ruffled Harry’s hair with a gentle hand, then settled back on his heels.  “Now, should I get the first of your two visitors?”

 

Harry drew in a deep, shaky breath.  “Yes,” he said.  “Professor Lupin first?”  He thought that Professor Lupin would be easier to deal with than Ron.

 

“Of course,” Draco said.  He stepped away from Harry, and Harry was suddenly glad that the room was as small as it was.  He didn’t think he would have reacted well to being alone, not yet anyway.  Draco didn’t leave the room, but stuck his head out the door instead.  Harry couldn’t quite make out what was being said, given that Draco’s voice was muffled, but moments later he came fully back into the room, and he was followed by Professor Lupin.

 

“Professor Lupin,” Harry breathed.  The professor’s left sleeve was non-existent, revealing the Dark Mark emblazoned on his arm.  “You’re a Death Eater now?”

 

“I am,” Professor Lupin said.  He looked away from Harry, and Harry realized that he might be ashamed of that fact.

 

“Why?” The word escaped before Harry could really think about it.  It just… slipped out.

 

Professor Lupin flinched at the sound of it.  “Because I couldn’t stay on Dumbledore’s side anymore,” he said.  “Because the Dark Lord had taken you, and wasn’t planning on giving you back, and you didn’t want to escape.  And then because you were taken by Dumbledore, and he… the ritual…”  Professor Lupin stopped talking, his voice choking up.

 

“For me?” It didn’t make sense.  Why would Professor Lupin care so much about him?  He’d never really cared before, had he?  Sure, in Harry’s third year he’d been a great help to him, once Harry had approached him.  But other than that…  why?

 

Professor Lupin finally looked up and met Harry’s eyes.  “When you were younger, I tried to come and visit you,” he said, his voice still choked.  “When Dumbledore told me that you were fine, that you were safer where you were if I didn’t go near you, I believed him.  I went away, because I wasn’t going to get a chance to see you and there was nothing left for me in England.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say, so he just closed it and listened as Professor Lupin spoke.

 

“When I came back, everything was… strange.  Wrong.  Sirius wasn’t the criminal he was supposed to be, Peter was alive, and you… you weren’t the happy boy I’d pictured.  And I regret that I didn’t do more to reach out to you, that I didn’t…”  He shook his head.  “Dumbledore told me to wait until you approached me, and I… I did.  And that was wrong of me.”

 

Harry looked down at his hands.  He didn’t know what to say, how to react to what he was being told.  Did he have to react?

 

“When you disappeared, I was devastated.  Harry, you’re all I have left.  I know that I haven’t been there as much as I should have, but I hope that you can forgive me for that and give me a chance to be a part of your life.”

 

A strained silence fell over the room, and Harry realized that yes, now he did need to know how to react.  He did like Professor Lupin, for all that they’d never been very close.  But…  Sirius had been a good friend of his, and Professor Lupin had been good friends with his father, and…  “I’d like that, too,” Harry finally whispered.

 

He looked up and offered Professor Lupin a strained smile.  “I’m sorry that being close to me means that you’re stuck being a Death Eater now.”  He nodded at the Dark Mark, and in doing so, noticed that the Professor’s hands had a fine tremor that ran through them.  When had that happened?

 

“Oh, it isn’t so bad,” Professor Lupin said with an airy little wave.  “Aside from having my loyalty tested on occasion, I’ve actually been doing well.  I’ve joined the werewolf pack that the Dark Lord is allied with, and I’m making friends with someone I’ve wanted to befriend for a long time.  So there’s that.”

 

“But aren’t you worried about what my parents would have thought?” Harry asked.  Because he worried about that.  What would they have thought about what he’d become, letting the Dark Lord sway him to his side?  He looked down at his hands, which were twitching again.

 

“Harry,” Professor Lupin started, his voice grave.  “I need you to believe me when I tell you that your parents would want you to be with anyone, no matter who they were, who protected you from what Dumbledore tried to do to you.”

 

Harry jumped when a gentle hand touched his hair, and he looked up to see that the professor was close to him, watching him with sympathetic amber eyes.  “You think so?” he asked, his voice small.

 

“I promise,” Professor Lupin said.

 

Harry sighed and relaxed.  Professor Lupin wouldn’t lie to him, not about that, at least, he didn’t think he would.  There was no reason to. The die was cast, and this was his life now.  Their lives, because a Dark Mark was permanent.  “I’m glad you’re here with me, Professor Lupin.”

 

Professor Lupin’s smile brightened.  “Really, Harry, I’m not a professor anymore.  I think you can call me Remus if you’d like.”

 

Harry hesitantly returned the smile.  “Okay, Remus.”  He hesitated again, then shifted forward in his chair and gave Remus a quick hug.  “Thanks for being here,” he whispered in his ear before pulling back and sagging into his chair once more.

 

Remus immediately stood, recognizing the words as a dismissal.  “It’s my pleasure,” he said.  He took a step back and asked, “Should I send Mr. Weasley in when I leave?”

 

Harry hesitated.  He wasn’t sure if he was ready… but wouldn’t it be better to get it over with if it was going to go badly?  “Yeah,” he muttered.

 

He looked down at his hands again, and heard Remus’ footsteps receding, heard the door open and then close, and then heard footsteps, more hesitant ones, approaching.

 

“I can come back later if you’d like,” Ron said.  “If you aren’t feeling up to seeing me, or…”

 

“No, I am,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t sure that he was.  He looked up and managed a tired smile.  “We should talk.”

 

Ron blew out a breath, ruffling his own hair.  “Of course,” he said.  He settled on the floor in front of Harry, and for some reason it made Harry feel better.  Maybe it was that Ron was in a non-threatening position that made Harry feel so much better, he didn’t know.

 

“I should start with an apology,” Ron said, speaking before Harry could figure it out.  “For spying on you for all those years.  I tried to quit a few times, but it never worked.  Dumbledore always had a reason that I should continue to do it, and I… I listened because I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Harry looked down, away from Ron. “Thanks,” he said.  He didn’t forgive Ron, not for that.  Not yet, anyway.  Maybe… maybe they could move past it, but…

 

“What he did to you was terrible,” Ron whispered.  “I’m sorry for not being able to stop it, for not deciding to give the Dark Lord the information I had sooner.  I just… so many people would die if I told him how to get into the school, so many people did die, and I… had to make sure it was the right thing to do.”

 

“I’m not angry with you,” Harry said, and was surprised to find that it was true.  He wasn’t angry at all.  He was tired, yes, and didn’t know that he would ever trust Ron the way he once had, but… he wasn’t angry.  “Thank you for acting when you did.”

 

Ron nodded, then asked hesitantly, “Do you think…”  He stopped talking and cleared his throat.  “Is there a chance that we could still be friends, Harry?” he asked, his voice shaking a little.

 

“I’m going to see your sister tortured, and probably killed, for what she tried to do to me,” Harry said quietly.  “Can you tolerate that?  Because I’m going to see Hermione tortured as well.  I’m going to see everyone that ever hurt me burned, because I’m very tired of hurting.”  His voice got a little shrill at the end, and he managed to reign it in with a few deep breaths.

 

He  _ hated _ Hermione and Ginny with a fervor that he’d never felt before.  He wouldn’t have a problem hitting either one of them with the Cruciatus Curse, he thought.

 

“I understand,” Ron said.  “I wish that you wouldn’t, because Ginny is still my sister, but I understand.”  He looked away.  “She kind of brought it on herself, with the way that she was treating you.”

 

“If you can accept that, then I think we can maybe be friends again one day.”  Harry hesitated.  He wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what else to say.  He looked to Draco, a bit helpless.  He was so tired, and his mind didn’t quite want to work right.

 

“I think that Harry needs some rest,” Draco said quietly.  He offered Harry a small, gentle smile.  “He’ll come and see you later, when he’s feeling a bit better.”

 

Ron immediately stood and took a step back.  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said to Harry.  Then he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the small room once more.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said.  Was that going to be Draco’s job, running interference for him?

 

“It’s no problem at all,” Draco said.  “Is there anything you’d like while we wait for the Dark Lord to come see you?”

 

Harry shook his head.  “I’m just tired,” he said.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at him.  “Then let me get you someplace more comfortable so that you can nap.”  There was a couch on the other side of the room that Harry hadn’t noticed before, and Draco nodded at it.

 

Harry got to his feet by leaning heavily on Draco, and managed to walk all the way to the couch, though his steps were wobbly and his body shook with exhaustion.  When he settled onto the couch, he closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep for the first time in what felt like forever.

 

He hoped that he’d still be in control of himself when he woke up.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven - Starting a Long Journey

 

As soon as he was done addressing his Death Eaters, telling them his expectations of them for the coming weeks as he worked to solidify his position at Hogwarts and within the wizarding community as a whole, Voldemort swept from the Great Hall.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that he should have had that very conversation with his people long before that moment in time, Voldemort likely would have continued to put it off.  What did he care about his followers when Harry was just recovered from the rigors of the ritual?  And who knew if he was even truly recovered?  There could be lingering issues that he wasn’t aware of…

 

Voldemort shoved the thoughts aside and entered the room he’d sent Harry to.  Narcissa was the first person he spotted, leaning against a wall, her face drawn and tired.  The Malfoy boy was sitting on the floor by a couch, his head resting on the cushions.  He, too, looked exhausted.

 

And Harry…  His Harry was fast asleep on that couch, his eyes closed, his glasses folded on the small table by the couch.  He looked so peaceful, so innocent…

 

Voldemort drew in a sharp breath.  “How is he?” he asked Narcissa.

 

Narcissa’s lips twisted into something like a frown.  “He’s… better than I would have expected, to be perfectly honest.  He’s coherent, able to communicate clearly from what I could see.  Draco, did you notice anything when he was speaking with you privately, or with Weasley or Lupin?”

 

Draco shook his head.  “He seemed fine,” he said.  “Maybe a little tired, a little bit slower with his responses?  Like he thought he’d spoken out loud but then realized he hadn’t, I guess.”

 

“That would be something I’d expect, given that he was locked inside his own mind for a very long time.”  Narcissa let out a small sigh that sounded relieved, at least to Voldemort’s ears.  “Then, as I said, he’s in as good shape as we could hope for.  That isn’t to say that there won’t be other issues that crop up, but for the most part, I would hesitantly like to say that he’s in fairly good condition.”

 

Voldemort nodded along with her report.  “In that case, what sorts of steps would you recommend we take from here?”  He would be the first to admit that worrying about mental health wasn’t normally something he did, but there was little more important to him now than Harry’s health, be it physical or mental.

 

Narcissa looked at Harry, her brows furrowing.  “As I said, there could be other issues that arise,” she said slowly.  “To that end, I do believe that it would be best for him if he had a constant companion.  Someone he is familiar with, that he trusts, to help me monitor him.  He knows me, but we never really clicked when we spent time together over the summer.  He might be… less than honest with me, regarding his health.”

 

“Draco will be in charge of that, then,” Voldemort said without thinking about it.  Harry had asked for Draco to accompany him, had reached for him when he’d first been released from the ritual.  He had little doubt that Harry would approve of this task being given to Draco when he might not approve of anyone else.

 

“It would be an honor, my lord,” Draco said.  He shifted, like he was going to stand and bow, but Voldemort waved him off irritably.  “I won’t fail you.”

 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the blonde.  “You’d better not,” he growled.  While he was willing to let Draco have this task on account of the way he seemed to be able to get along with Harry, he hadn’t forgotten on whose watch Harry had been captured.  If it happened again… actually… “Do you think he would be okay if I were to assign him a bodyguard or two?” he asked Narcissa.  “Or would it remind him too much of being under Dumbledore’s control?”

 

Narcissa hesitated.  “Perhaps if it isn’t someone he has a poor history with, such as my darling sister, and they keep their distance from him,” she said slowly.  “I do still want him under observation for a few more days, to be perfectly clear.  We could keep a guard on his door in the infirmary, and I could feel him out about the guard situation while he’s under my care?”

 

Voldemort let out a hum of assent.  “That sounds like a viable option,” he agreed.  He considered which of his Death Eaters might be suitable.  Perhaps a younger one, who’d graduated before Harry had gone to Hogwarts?  Or…  He wanted Bellatrix, but he acknowledged that Narcissa was right and that she was a very foolish idea.  Harry would never tolerate her.

 

He pushed the thought aside, though, when Harry let out a small noise and began to shift on the couch, moving like he was waking up.  His vibrant green eyes opened, dulled only a little with sleep, and he blinked at Voldemort, then smiled what may have been the sweetest smile that Voldemort had ever seen.

 

...There was the smallest chance that he was in trouble, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry woke slowly, like drifting on a boat out of the fog.  He heard the murmur of voices, and that was probably what started to wake him.  When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself looking at Voldemort, who was watching him with concern clear in his red eyes.

 

Harry was so glad to see him, because being in Voldemort’s presence meant he was safe, whether or not he was still free of the ritual’s hold.  And… just to make sure, he muttered, “Bibbidy bobbidy boo,” a bit of nonsense he’d heard once while Dudley was watching a cartoon.  He was delighted to feel his throat vibrate, to hear the words spoken aloud.

 

He was still in control of himself; the ritual hadn’t taken him again!

 

“Harry?” Voldemort asked, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

 

Harry sat up slowly, his head spinning.  He was hungry, but then, he wasn’t surprised.  He’d been locked inside his unconscious body for a long time, and he didn’t think they gave him much food when he was like that.  “I was checking,” he explained, when he realized that he was being watched by all three people in the room.

 

“Checking?” Narcissa asked.

 

To see if he was still in control, obviously.  What else would he be checking for?  Harry frowned at Narcissa.

 

“To see if he’s in control,” Draco said, and Harry realized that he hadn’t spoken out loud when he’d meant to.  That was okay; Draco had said it more nicely than Harry ever would have managed.

 

“Harry, I’d like to talk to you about the coming days,” Voldemort said, drawing Harry’s attention.

 

Harry blinked at him.  “What would you like to talk about?”  What did he care about the coming days?  The important thing was that he was free, he was safe, and he was in control of his own body.  What else could matter?

 

“Narcissa thinks, and I agree, that you should stay in the infirmary for a few days while your health is ascertained.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose, delighting in the feel of his face following his instructions.  It was such a simple pleasure, but it was one that he’d doubted he’d ever have again.  “Don’t want to,” he said shortly.  He looked away from Voldemort and at Narcissa.  “Do I have to?”

 

“It would be for the best,” Narcissa said gently.  “If anything were to go wrong with your recovery, not that I think it will, it would be better if I were close at hand.”

 

Harry sighed and sagged back into the couch’s embrace.  He didn’t like the idea.  He was finally in charge of his own body, free of his mental cage, and now they wanted to lock him away in a room?  He didn’t want to be locked away!

 

“I’ll be staying with you,” Draco said.  “So you wouldn’t be alone, and we could go out on walks if you liked.”

 

He’d spoken out loud.  Damn it.  “Fine,” Harry finally muttered.  He hated the idea, but if everyone thought it was a good one…  Besides, “It won’t be forever, right?”  He couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice when he asked.

 

“It won’t be for very long at all,” Narcissa said soothingly.  “Just a few days, just to make sure that your body is under your control and there aren’t lingering, malicious side effects, and then you’ll be free to wander Hogwarts at your leisure.”

 

Harry let out a disgruntled little huff and crossed his arms.  He didn’t like it, but he would accept it.

 

“After that, you’ll need to be housed somewhere, and I was hoping that you would accept staying in my suite with me,” Voldemort said.

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed.  Housed with Voldemort?  “Why can’t I just stay in Gryffindor Tower?” he asked.  He liked the tower.  It wasn’t that he minded the idea of being housed with Voldemort, although he was sure that he should have some concerns, it was just that he liked the tower.

 

It had been home for so long, and then…  Harry shuddered abruptly at the memory of the past few months there.  “Never mind,” he said quickly.  “I take it back.  I don’t want to stay in the tower.”

 

Draco reached up to him, and Harry grasped his hand tightly.  It was warm and solid in his grip, and Harry appreciated it very much in that moment.  He was finding Draco to be a good, supportive friend, and he regretted not befriending him earlier in life, for all that he’d been a dick in earlier years.

 

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco said dryly.

 

“I didn’t mean to say it out loud!” Harry protested.  “I keep… I keep doing that,” he muttered, looking down.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco answered.  He squeezed Harry’s hand.  “You’ll get the hang of being in control of yourself again soon enough.”

 

“I want you to stay with me so that I can make certain that you’re safe,” Voldemort said, ignoring Draco’s words.  “There are fewer places in the castle that will be as well-secured as my own rooms, and while I could find another suite for you, I would… be more comfortable if you were with me.  In your own room, of course.”

 

Harry studied Voldemort.  “In my own room?” he asked, just to make certain.  That wouldn’t be so bad, he supposed.  “And… And Draco can stay with me?”  He didn’t think he wanted to live with Voldemort without some kind of buffer.  While he might like Harry now, Harry hadn’t forgotten that the man had tried to kill him for the majority of his life.  What if he changed his mind about Harry having value to him?

 

Although, if that happened, it wasn’t like Draco would protect him…

 

Voldemort stared at him, his eyes narrowing, and Harry realized that he’d said just about all of that out loud.  Again.  Bloody hell.  “I won’t—”  Voldemort cut himself off and drew in a deep breath.  “Yes, the Malfoy boy can stay with you as well.”

 

He turned on his heel and stalked out before Harry could do or say anything else.  Which was a good thing, because Harry had more than had his fill of embarrassing himself.

 

He fell over with a groan and hoped that he would figure out the trick of speaking when he meant to out again soon, because not having it was awful.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco let out a shuddering sigh as soon as Voldemort had left the room.  Did Harry even realize how tightly the Dark Lord was wound around his finger?  Did he not see the way that Voldemort had caved to the power of Harry’s pout?

 

Probably not.  He probably didn’t even realize that he’d been pouting when he’d asked for Draco to be allowed to stay with him.  Demanded, really, if Draco was going to be honest.  Draco couldn’t help but snicker a little at the memory of Voldemort’s face when he’d done so.

 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Harry muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow his head was buried in.

 

“I’m not,” Draco said honestly.  “I just… The Dark Lord’s face when you told him you wanted me to stay with you.”  Draco giggled a little before getting himself under control.  “Do you realize that you could probably get just about anything from him?”

 

Harry pulled the pillow away from his head and blinked at Draco, his pretty green eyes going wide with confusion.  “But what would I want from him?  I have you, and Ron and Remus are okay, and everything else will work itself out, right?”

 

Oh, Merlin.  Draco had to look away before his cheeks turned any pinker.  He was in a lot of trouble, more than he’d realized before.

 

Because he was pretty sure that Harry was wrong.  If it came down to fighting Voldemort for Harry’s safety, Draco was pretty sure he would die in Harry’s defense.  And that was a terrifying thought that he didn’t know how to process, so he shoved it to the side.

 

It wasn’t like Harry would want someone like him, anyway.  He was probably just glad to have a friend who wouldn’t betray him, and Draco wanted to make sure that he stayed that friend, and did nothing to ruin their friendship.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight - Life in the Shadows

 

Ron left the side room with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.  He’d known, in his head, that Harry wouldn’t be able to forgive him so easily for his betrayal, but he’d hoped… well, it didn’t matter what he’d hoped.  The best that he could hope for was the chance that Harry had given him, and all that he could do now was do his best to never give Harry a reason to doubt him again.

 

Ron thought that maybe he could manage that.  After all, it wasn’t like Dumbledore was around to make him do anything anymore.  The thought, combined with the terrible memory of Dumbledore’s death, made him shiver.  He pushed it aside as he rejoined his guards, who were waiting in the Great Hall for him.

 

“Where am I going?” he asked them quietly.  He supposed that he was going back to Gryffindor tower, at least until someone figured out what to do with him, and was unsurprised to find himself being led in exactly that direction.

 

“I guess I’m here for a while?” Ron asked, but nobody answered him.  That didn’t surprise him.  While his guards, whoever they might be, didn’t hurt him, they also didn’t go out of their way to be particularly friendly to him.

 

He supposed that he couldn’t be too surprised.  He was a Weasley, and that came with a certain reputation.  That he’d betrayed his entire family and just about everything he believed in for Harry’s sake didn’t seem to matter to his guards, just like it probably wouldn’t matter to any other Death Eaters.

 

Ron sighed once he was alone in the room that he was coming to think of as his own.  It was boring in there, but at least he was relatively safe.  Nobody bothered him while he was in his room, which was… well, lonely.  But it was a safe sort of lonely, and Ron supposed that was all that he could hope for, given who he was.

 

He pulled out the chess set he’d asked for when he’d been in the room for almost a week and set up the board.  He would play a game or two, and hopefully, when he was done, something would happen.  Maybe dinner?

 

Not that he thought he could eat, because his stomach churned at the memory of what the Dark Lord had done to Dumbledore.  Yes, the Headmaster had been abhorrent, had treated Harry terribly, but that didn’t mean that Ron had wanted to see him cut into bits and then burned from the inside out.

 

He shivered, and resolved once more to never do anything that might anger the Dark Lord.  He didn’t want to die like that.  If he was going to die, he hoped that it would be quick, rather than that awful slow torture.

 

“Merlin,” he muttered to himself.  “I need to stop thinking about this.”  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to stop himself from thinking about all the things that could await him if he wasn’t very careful on his new path.

 

He tried to not think about what his parents must be thinking, about how worried they probably were about Ginny and himself, assuming that nobody had told them that Ron had betrayed them.  But then, how would they know?  Ron hadn’t been there for the battle.  No one would know what he’d done.  Did his parents know if he was alive?  Did they know that Ginny was probably going to die soon?

 

Ron couldn’t imagine how much his Mum had to be grieving, and he didn’t want to think about it.  Trying to think about his family and their circumstances made his heart ache, and Ron closed his eyes to avoid it.

 

Then he drew in a deep breath, opened his eyes, and focused on his chess pieces.  It was something to do, since he couldn’t go outside and he knew he couldn’t focus enough to read.  Not that he thought reading was fun, but these days, it was all that he had to distract himself.

 

“Pawn to D4,” he said clearly, and watched the piece move.  The black set responded, making their move, and the game was on.

 

Ron just hoped that something happened before he grew even more bored, because there was only so much chess that he could tolerate at any given point.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Ron knew the passage of time only through the delivery of meals and the occasional charm he cast when he wanted to know something a bit more specific than a chess game after lunch o’clock.  He didn’t wake up until after his first meal was delivered, normally, and that particular day was shaping up to be no expectation.

 

He’d woken up before it was delivered, but was content to drift lazily in the realm of sleep.  It wasn’t like there was anything else for him to do, given that nobody was coming to visit him and nobody was looking for him.  He didn’t have classes and had no chores to do, because there were none of either.  It was the kind of existence he’d always half-hoped for, deep in the laziest pits of his heart, and now that he had it, he found that it was miserable.

 

Just as he’d started to drift back to sleep, since the sunlight hadn’t crept far enough to mean that breakfast was imminent, a sharp rapping on the door startled him from his half-asleep state.

 

Ron jerked to his feet and stumbled to the door, not sure of who was there but wanting to open it before whoever it was went away.  And when he did open it, he almost wished that he hadn’t.

 

There were Slytherins at his door, three of them, and they all looked equally unamused to see him standing before them in his pajamas, with his hair dishevelled and his eyes still dulled from sleep.

 

As Ron stood there gaping at them, Pansy, Daphne, and Theo brushed past him without waiting for permission.  He turned around, still shocked, and asked numbly, “Can I help you?”

 

“I think you should be asking the opposite question,” Pansy said primly.  “Can we help you?  And the answer, of course, is yes, or we wouldn’t be bothering to waste our time here.”

 

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it.  He frowned and said, “I don’t think that I need help,” very slowly.  What did they want?  He was so confused…

 

“So you’re not bored out of your mind up here?” Daphne asked sweetly.  “Because…”  She looked around the room and raised one of her blonde eyebrows.  “You look like you’re bored out of your mind.  How many chess games have you won today?”

 

“None, because he was still asleep,” Theo muttered.  When both of the girls shot him glares, he raised his hands in surrender.  “Just saying,” he said, hiding a grin.

 

“I mean, yes, of course I’m bored,” Ron said, stretching the words out as he tried to figure out where to go.  “But I don’t see how you three can fix that.”

 

Daphne shrugged.  “Nobody seems to know what to do with you,” she told him.  “But you’re not officially under guard anymore.  I mean, you are, but your guards said that you could just as easily be somewhere else if there was somewhere else you wanted to go.”

 

There wasn’t anywhere that Ron wanted to go, not outside of going home and finding his family and begging them to forgive him for his betrayal.  He knew that wouldn’t go over well, and he knew that he’d never make it there even if he tried.  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Ron explained.  “I guess people will find me when they need me,” he added with a small, awkward shrug.

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Pansy said with a haughty little sniff.  “Waiting around for someone to remember you exist never works, Weasley.  You’ll come down to the Slytherin dungeons with us, and you’ll socialize and have fun.”

 

Ron opened his mouth to protest, if only on principle alone, then closed it.  What did he have to protest?  He was bored up in the Tower all by himself, and if they were offering to go with him, maybe to help him make friends…

 

A part of him, a large part of him, balked at the idea of making friends with the Slytherins.  They were the enemy, that insidious voice in his head whispered.  They would betray him, and then he’d be alone, and then what would he do?  But he was already alone, and also, technically speaking, he was the enemy as well now that he’d betrayed the light for Harry’s sake.

 

“Yeah,” he finally said.  He took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  I can go down to the dungeons with you.  Maybe I’ll make a new friend or two.”

 

Theo clapped him on the back, the motion sending him staggering.  “That’s a good boy,” he said, his voice not at all condescending in spite of the fact that the words could be taken as such.  “Why don’t you get cleaned up before you come, though?”

 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Pansy said.  She sniffed again, not at all subtle.  “You do have a certain aroma about you that might be good to get rid of.”

 

Ron flushed, both embarrassed and a little angry.  “Well, I don’t know what you expected when you wake someone up,” he muttered as he shouldered past them and headed in the direction of the bathrooms.

 

“We expect people to be awake at this time,” Daphne called after him.

 

Ron didn’t fight the urge to give her a rude gesture behind his back as he slammed the door, and was rewarded by scandalized laughter from all three of his visitors.

 

In the shower, he couldn’t help but smile.  He’d made his choices, and they were probably terrible choices in the long run, but he’d been prepared to live with the consequences.  Now, it seemed that there was at least a small chance that the consequences wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought.

 

He would live, and while he was alive, he had the chance to repair his friendship with Harry.  And he could make new friends, better friends, and maybe make something of himself, something more than being a traitor.

 

He hoped, anyway.  And if that was all he had, his hope, then it was something.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Lucius was tired, more tired than he’d been in what felt like an eternity.  Their Lord had them scouring the castle, looking for anything that could possibly grant him full access to the wards around the school.  He had partial access, thanks to the wardstone in the Headmaster’s old office, but partial access wasn’t enough to insure that Hogwarts stayed an impenetrable fortress.

 

And so they all searched for the heart of Hogwarts, where the full ward nexus would be located.  It was exhausting, boring, and frustrating in turns.  Exhausting, because literally every inch of the school had to be searched.  Boring and frustrating for the exact same reason.

 

But at least Lucius could search his old dormitories, a place he hadn’t been in years.  He wondered what they would be like with no students occupying them.  He’d never been there without the students, having never had reason to inspect the dorms as a school governor.  They’d never had any reason to inspect any of the dorms, so he hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing any of the others in the school, either.

 

A shame, but one that he could rectify now that they had control of the castle.  He’d always been curious about the alleged kitchen access that the Hufflepuffs had…

 

Lucius opened the portrait entrance to the Slytherin dungeons and froze.  He’d forgotten.  They’d all forgotten.

 

He closed the portrait hole before he could be spotted and leaned against the wall, laughing quietly, his hand in his hair.  How could they have forgotten about the children still present at the castle?  His own son was here, but then, Draco had been given a most important task.  That none of the other Slytherin children had been seen since Dumbledore’s execution three days ago…

 

If Narcissa found out that he’d forgotten that the children were there, she would have his head.  And so it was that Lucius decided that his wife would never find out how foolish the entirety of the adult Death Eaters had been, and resolved to get something like lessons set up so that when everybody else remembered the children’s presence, he would have already handled it and could claim complete credit.

 

He left the dungeons with a swirl of his robes, headed in search of the werewolf ex-professor and Severus.  Surely they would be able to handle teaching a handful of brats… 


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine - Recovery

 

Harry’s first day in Narcissa’s care was boring, in that he pretty much stayed in bed and did nothing else.  She spoke to him, occasionally, trying to get him to talk about his feelings during his imprisonment, but Harry had no interest in talking about that at all.  Nobody needed to know how tired he’d been, how sad and how angry he’d been.

 

That was all irrelevant.  He was fine.  He was free, and that was all that mattered.

 

“Harry,” Draco started after she’d left him for the first time.  He sounded disappointed, and that hurt Harry more than he expected.

 

“What?” he snapped.  He didn’t mean to say it like that, but he couldn’t repress his irritation.  He didn’t like feeling hurt because he didn’t feel like talking.

 

Draco didn’t seem phased by his irritation.  “You need to talk to her,” he said gently.  He settled on the bed next to Harry, close enough that Harry could feel the warmth that emanated from him.

 

Harry looked down at his hands.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.  It had been awful.  It was over.  It was just like his time with the Dursleys: awful, but ultimately over, and therefore immaterial.

 

“I think you should talk about it,” Draco said.  He tilted over so that he nudged at Harry’s arm.  “I think it would do you a world of good.”

 

Did Draco think he was broken?  Harry knew that he wasn’t quite the same as he’d been when Dumbledore had taken him, but he wasn’t broken.  There wasn’t anything wrong with him, and it hurt that Draco thought that there was.  What if he was too much trouble and Draco didn’t want to be his friend anymore?

 

The thought made Harry’s stomach churn.  He flopped down on the bed and rolled onto his side, where he curled into a tiny ball.

 

“I don’t think you’re broken,” Draco said, and Harry realized that, once again, he’d spoken out loud when he hadn’t intended to.  “I think that you’re hurting, and that there’s a lot of sorrow inside of you that my mother would be more than happy to help you let out.”

 

Harry sighed.  He didn’t want to talk to her.  He didn’t know her that well, and what if she told someone what he said?  He looked at Draco, hoping that he would answer, but he realized after the silence stretched that he hadn’t actually said anything out loud.

 

It was frustrating, the way that he talked when he didn’t mean to and didn’t say anything when he intended to.  Could she help with that, maybe?

 

“She wouldn’t tell anyone what I said, would she?” Harry finally made himself ask, his voice small.

 

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Draco said immediately.  He reached out for Harry, but stopped before his hand could make contact.  Which was a shame, because Harry would have liked it if Draco had touched him.  He liked it when Draco’s hand was on him somewhere.  Draco let out a small, startled noise, but continued the gesture until his hand was buried in Harry’s hair.

 

Harry flushed when he realized that, once again, he’d spoken out loud when he hadn’t intended to.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

 

“It’s not a problem,” Draco said.  “You know, Mother could probably help you stop doing that if you’d like.”

 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes.  He didn’t want to think about it right at that moment.  But the next time Narcissa came by to speak with him, Harry made an effort to talk about what she wanted to, and when she left, he did feel a little bit better.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

On the second day, Narcissa made him get up and take a walk.  Harry didn’t particularly want to, and resented the fact that she was giving him orders when he was finally under his own control once more.  He was starting to trust that fact, and so had stopped saying nonsensical words, but still didn’t want to follow anyone’s commands but his own.

 

What if, in doing so, he gave them a more permanent type of control over him?

 

But Narcissa badgered and cajoled him into going for a walk with Draco, and into dressing warmly since it was almost December and there was snow on the ground outside.  Harry complied, but drew a secret sort of glee in not complying all the way.

 

It wasn’t until they got halfway out to the Great Lake that Draco discovered that he wasn’t wearing shoes, and then they turned around and headed back into the castle.

 

Harry won twice that day, in that he didn’t have to stay outside for too long, and he managed to reassure himself that he was under his own control.  While Dumbledore was in charge, the body never would have done something so ridiculous as going outside without his shoes.

 

He did, however, lose in that he wound up with frostbite on his feet that had to be treated quickly and painfully.

 

It wasn’t enough to make him start wearing shoes, though, when the feeling of the castle’s stone floors on his bared feet was more than enough to make him realize that he wasn’t under Dumbledore’s control anymore.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

By the fourth day in Narcissa’s care, Harry was impossibly bored.  He liked spending time with Draco, but there was only so much of one person he could handle.  He wanted to go out and explore the castle, but nobody was comfortable with him doing that without shoes, and Harry was still refusing to wear them.  Because he could.

 

His frustration resulted in his sneaking out while Draco was out at the bathroom and Narcissa was turned in the other direction.

 

Harry wandered the halls aimlessly.  It was entertaining to watch the various and assorted Death Eaters scatter at the sight of him, obviously wary of doing anything to antagonize him.  Harry didn’t have to be a genius to realize that they were terrified of attracting Voldemort’s ire through him.

 

He probably shouldn’t be as amused by that as he was.

 

He made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, to find the portrait hole open and the tower itself vacant.  Part of him wanted to go inside, but as soon as he thought about it, he remembered his body sitting there with Ginny pointing out engagement rings.  He gagged a little and turned his back on the tower.

 

Instead, he headed down in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons.  Surely, if there were still people of his age at the school, they would be there.  Maybe he could socialize for a bit?  And maybe Ron would be there, and they could… talk.  Maybe.  As friends, when Harry was in control of himself and knew that Ron had spied, for the first time ever.  It would be a new thing for them, and Harry found that he kind of wanted to try it.

 

He got distracted on his way down to the dungeons by the sound of Remus’ voice, however.  Harry stopped by the classroom that it came from, and listened to a lecture on wandless magic.  Remus was teaching!

 

Harry couldn't stop himself from opening the door and slipping into the room, only to find himself being stared at by a number of Slytherin sixth years, as well as Ron.  Remus just smiled at him, though, and nodded at a chair.

 

Harry beamed at him, then settled in next to Ron, who had a chair open on one side.  The other side was taken by Daphne Greengrass, if Harry wasn’t mistaken.  It was good to see that Ron didn’t look like he was being ostracized, at least.  Maybe Ron was making friends in Slytherin, and that would be a good thing, right?

 

Harry found his mind drifting during the class, unable to pay much attention.  It was nice to just be around other people, to hear voices other than Draco’s, Narcissa’s, and Voldemort’s.  Not that the Dark Lord had been around to visit with him or anything, a fact which Harry refused to acknowledge was upsetting him.

 

He wasn’t upset.  He understood that Voldemort was busy.  He just wished that Voldemort would actually come and visit him more often, because he felt safest when the Dark Lord was nearby.  He knew that Voldemort would never let anyone hurt him again the way that Dumbledore had.

 

The door slammed open, and Draco stood there, panting, framed by the doorway.  “There you are,” he growled, heedless of the fact that he was being stared at by Remus and their peers.  He stalked into the room.

 

Harry fought the urge to duck under his desk.  “I just wanted to look around,” he said innocently.  “And I got distracted by Remus’ fascinating lecture on…”  What had Remus been talking about?  Ron hissed something beside him, and Harry brightened.  “On wandless magic!”

 

“If you wanted to go out and about, there are other ways to do it,” Draco hissed.  “And you’re not even wearing your shoes!”

 

Harry didn’t bother to look down at his feet, and instead wiggled his toes.  “That’s a true statement,” he agreed happily.

 

Draco let out a wordless, frustrated growl, and continued towards Harry.  He leaned in close and said, his voice low, “Do you understand that I had to tell the Dark Lord that I lost you again?”

 

Harry frowned.  “Was he angry?” he asked.

 

“He was quite angry,” another voice said from the doorway, and Harry winced.

 

He didn’t want to look up, because he knew that Voldemort was there, and he sounded angry.  “Sorry,” Harry muttered.  He stared down at his desk.

 

“You’re not a prisoner,” Voldemort said, exasperation coloring his voice.  “But you can’t just go wandering off on your own.  It isn’t safe, Harry.  You need to keep Draco with you.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, to say that he would keep Draco with him if Draco would stop being so insistent on propriety, but froze when Voldemort dropped to his knees in front of him.  He looked up at Draco, his eyes wide and helpless.

  
“My lord?” Draco asked carefully, hesitance making his words slow.

 

“Harry, look at your feet!”  Voldemort touched them carefully.

 

Harry jumped at the touch and jerked his foot away.  “My feet are fine,” he said petulantly.  He knew he was acting like a child, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.  “I didn’t go outside, so I don’t have frostbite this time.  They’re just dirty.”

 

“And sore,” Voldemort countered.  “Do you think they’re supposed to be red like that?  You must have walked through something.”

 

Maybe Harry had; he couldn’t be bothered to recall anything like that.  “Maybe,” he muttered.

 

Voldemort sat back on his heels and frowned up at Harry, and Harry’s heart fluttered at the concern in his eyes.  He dropped his gaze as Voldemort said, “If you aren’t going to wear shoes, and I respect that it’s your decision, then I need you to at least wear slippers for me.  Can you do that?”

 

Harry didn’t want to.  Slippers were almost as bad as shoes.  The body might have worn slippers out, and nobody would have noticed.  He opened his mouth to protest, but Voldemort held up a hand.  Harry’s mouth snapped shut and he waited, eyebrows raised.

 

Voldemort drew his wand and conjured a pair of fluffy green dragon slippers, then offered them to Harry with a perfectly straight face.  “I think you’ll find these far enough removed from shoes as to not offend your sensibilities.”

 

It was true, they were nothing like shoes, and Harry didn’t want to be entirely unreasonable.  He sighed and presented his feet and let Voldemort slip them on for him.  He could have done it himself, but that seemed like so much work.

 

“Thank you, Harry,” Voldemort said coolly.  He stood gracefully, then said to Draco, “Don’t lose him again, Malfoy.”  He stalked from the room, his robes flowing behind him.

 

Once he was gone, Ron let out a small snort that quickly devolved into almost hysterical laughter, and the rest of the students followed.  Remus, on the other hand, just looked tired.

 

Harry felt briefly guilty for disrupting class, but shook it off as soon as Remus began teaching once more.  This time, he tried to pay attention, and was pleased when Draco sat to join him.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Later in the day, after the class was over, Remus asked for Harry to walk with him, and Harry found that he was inclined to agree.  He followed the professor out onto the grounds, with Draco trailing several steps behind them, and revelled in the magical nature of his slippers.  His feet didn’t get wet from the snow, nor did they grow cold.  It was nice.

 

He wondered if someone could make them roar when he walked, like the hat that Luna had worn once upon a time.

 

“It would be difficult magic, but I’m sure it’s possible,” Remus said.  His hands were in his pocket, and he looked tired and cold.

 

“Are you okay, Remus?” Harry asked quietly.  He hadn’t seen the professor looking so tired except for after a bout of his illness, and Harry wasn’t positive, but he didn’t think there had been a full moon recently.

 

“I’m fine,” Remus responded.  He offered Harry a warm smile.  “I just… Harry, I understand that Voldemort is taking care of you, and that he would probably never hurt you, but… maybe you should be a bit more cautious around him?”  He lifted a hand to brush his hair from his face, and Harry realized for the first time that Remus’ hands shook.  It was a slight, fine tremor, which explained why Harry hadn’t noticed it before.

 

Harry swallowed.  “What happened to your hands, Remus?” he asked.  Because now that he’d noticed it, he remembered seeing them both trembling when he demonstrated something to the class.

 

Remus sighed.  “My hands are fine.”

 

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Harry whispered.  He reached out, his own fingers shaking, and touched Remus’ hand.

 

Remus sighed, and let his hand rest in Harry’s so that Harry could observe the tremor.  “Too much exposure to the Cruciatus Curse causes damage to the nervous system,” Remus said after the silence stretched.  “Voldemort had doubts about my loyalty.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked up at Remus.  “Voldemort…”  He swallowed.  He knew that just because Voldemort was nice to him didn’t mean that he’d really changed, but Harry hadn’t realized…

 

“It’s okay,” Remus said quietly.  He twisted his hand and used it to grasp Harry’s, the touch strong yet gentle.  “I’m fine.  Please don’t worry about me.  I just… I wanted to make sure that you understood that the Dark Lord can be quite volatile, and you should… be careful.”

 

They’d long since stopped walking, and Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to continue.  He thought that maybe Remus should be back inside, so that he wasn’t shivering on top of the damage to his nervous system.  The thought made Harry queasy.

 

“I’ll be careful,” he said, realizing that he hadn’t spoken out loud.  He offered Remus his most self-assured smile, which admittedly wasn’t very, and then turned back towards the castle.  Draco was still behind them, watching through wary eyes.  When he caught Harry looking, his expression shifted into a small smile.

 

“Thank you,” Remus said.  “Do you want to head back inside, then?”

 

“I’m cold,” Harry lied.  He thought that Remus looked cold.  He would have to find a way to make sure that Voldemort didn’t hurt Remus anymore.  He didn’t like the idea that Voldemort had done it in the first place, but what was done was done.  He would just make sure it didn’t happen again.

 

Hopefully to anyone.  Harry could probably manage that.


	31. Chapter Thirty - Mate

 

Severus’ personal feelings about teaching weren’t the problem he found himself having.  Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t actually mind teaching potions.  There was something rewarding about passing his knowledge on to students who were eager to learn.

 

That most of them weren’t eager to learn was a large part of the problem.  That he and Remus had gone from having only one subject to teach to having three each was also part of the problem.

 

When Lucius had come to him, had told him that the children were just lazing about in the Slytherin common room with nothing to do, Severus had proposed that classes begin again, and Lucius had agreed that it was a good idea.  Unfortunately, Severus and Remus were apparently the only two people in the entire castle who were equipped to teach students.

 

Severus still wasn’t certain that he believed Lucius about that, but there was little he could do.  Even if other Death Eaters were able to teach some of the other subjects, with the Dark Lord so obsessed with finding the wardstone, there was no way that anyone else would be spared from the quest.

 

Still…  “This isn’t sustainable,” Severus groaned as he stared at the stack of papers in front of him.  

 

The stack in front of Remus was only slightly smaller, and that was because he didn’t have History of Magic.  Severus had volunteered to teach that one, having always been fascinated by it in spite of Binns’ best efforts to make it boring.  “It’s really not,” Remus said.  He let his head fall forward, so that his forehead rested against the desk.  “We need to find at least two or three other teachers.  Enough so that we’re only juggling two subjects, maybe.”

 

Severus nodded agreeably and started marking the next paper.  He only made it halfway through before the words started to swim in front of his eyes and he had to set it aside.  “I hate this,” he muttered.

 

“Teaching?” Remus asked.  “Then why did you agree?”

 

“I don’t hate teaching,” Severus protested.  “I just… I don’t like teaching those who aren’t willing to learn, which is an unfortunate majority of the students at Hogwarts.”

 

“Even your Slytherins?” Remus teased.  He quirked his lips in a smile.

 

Severus’ cheeks heated and he looked down.  “Even my Slytherins hate subjects like History of Magic,” he confirmed.  “They don’t mind Potions or Arithmancy, but History?  You’d think I was trying to murder them from the way they react to it.”

 

Remus laughed quietly.  “Surely it isn’t that bad, Severus?”

 

“You have the subjects they all like,” Severus said.  “Defense, Charms, and Transfigurations?  Those are all the flashier arts.  History, though…”  He sighed.  “And it doesn’t help that they had Binns for so long.  The ghost is an absolute menace.  Someone really should exorcise him.”

 

“I’m honestly surprised that Voldemort hasn’t gotten rid of the ghosts yet,” Remus said.  He put his quill down and stretched, the motion graceful.

 

Severus averted his eyes.  “I’m sure that he will at some point,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.  Maybe it was the enforced proximity he’d shared with the werewolf for so long, but he was starting to notice that Remus was… quite beautiful, actually.  Some of the time.  When he wasn’t a ravening monster.  “They’re a security risk,” he added, and forced himself to look back down at the paper in front of him.

 

“A security risk?”  Remus let out a bark of laughter.  “I suppose they are.  I’d just never considered them like that.”

 

“Why would you?”  Severus dared to glance up at Remus from the corner of his eye.  Remus was grinning, like he’d just heard the most absurd joke in the world.  “You don’t have to think like we do.  It would be…”  Severus stopped himself before he could finish his sentence.

 

“It would be what?”  Remus reached out and prodded Severus with the feathery part of his quill.

 

Severus didn’t look up.  “Never mind.”  He wasn’t going to admit out loud that he thought it would be a tragedy for Remus to start thinking like a Death Eater. Remus really wasn’t one of them, not in all the ways that mattered most, no matter what the mark on his arm said.

 

He was too good to be a Death Eater like the rest of them.

 

“Okay,” Remus said, drawing the word out.  He poked Severus again with the quill.  “Whatever you say.”  Then he went back to grading the paper in front of him.

 

With a sigh, Severus did the same.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Teaching roughly twenty-one classes was going to be the death of Remus, if the full moon wasn’t.

 

“What the fuck do you mean that you’re too tired to run with us?” Fenrir growled at him, getting right up in Remus’ face.

 

Remus was too tired to even bother growling back.  Instead, he found himself letting out a small whine and ducking his head submissively.  “I mean that I’m too tired,” he said.  “I can try, of course, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up with the pack tonight.”

 

Fenrir sniffed at him, inhaling deeply around Remus’ neck, then backed off with another irritated growl.  “You’re working too much,” he said.  “Quit that.”

 

Remus would love to, and opened his mouth to say exactly that, but before he could even begin to talk, the first rays of moonlight hit him and the transformation began.  It was excruciating, worse than normal because of Remus’ exhaustion.  He found himself on the ground in the end, whining pathetically.

 

Fenrir came over to nose at him, to try to nudge him to his feet, but Remus wasn’t interested in moving.  He just lay there, whimpering quietly, the pain too intense.  After a moment of trying, Fenrir gave up and bounded away, pursued by the rest of the pack.

 

Remus lumbered to his feet eventually, once the worst of the pain had faded.  He considered briefly following the pack, going out to hunt, but the thought made his stomach churn.  Instead, he wandered the outside of the castle, sniffing.  And then he caught it.  A scent.

 

It was the most magical scent he’d ever smelled, and he knew that he needed to find more of it.  Remus followed his nose, and found himself outside of a window where the smell was coming from.  He could hear the sound of movement from inside the castle, and thought about trying to get in.  But the window was too high up, and the stone was too smooth to climb.

 

He decided against trying.  Instead, Remus settled on the ground outside, turning three times before lying down.  He didn’t move at all, not for the rest of the evening, and in the morning, when he came back to himself, he felt better than he’d felt in a very long time.  Well-rested, which was confusing after a night of the full moon.

 

He got up off the ground, dusted himself off, and set out in search of Fenrir.  He found the pack Alpha overseeing the rest of his wolves as they lounged around on the ground outside, recovering from the moon.

 

“Feel better?” Fenrir asked gruffly.

 

Remus might have thought that he wasn’t really concerned, but he knew that Fenrir was because of the way he scented the air as Remus approached.  “Much,” he said honestly.  He offered the Alpha a tired smile.  “But… something strange happened last night.”

 

Fenrir turned to him, one eyebrow rising.  “Oh?”

 

“I caught a scent, and I just… kind of… followed it?  It was a really nice scent…”  Remus sighed with the memory of it.  “I didn’t want to leave once I’d found it, so I just spent the night lying by a window where the scent was strongest.”

 

Now that he was more coherent, Remus could acknowledge both that what he’d done was creepy, and that he’d been outside of Severus’ window.  He didn’t know what to do with that second bit of knowledge.

 

“So, you’ve found a mate, have you?”  Fenrir let out a bark of laughter.  “Didn’t think you had it in you, to be honest.”  He clapped Remus on the back.  “Thought you were too human.”

 

Remus blinked.  “Sorry?”  He didn’t understand.  Found a mate?  What was Fenrir talking about?

 

Fenrir laughed at him, the chuckle warmly amused.  “Werewolves find mates.  People we’re compatible with.  It’s nothing so romantic as mating for life; it just means that whoever’s scent you were smelling is someone you might be able to build a life with if you so chose.”

 

“Oh,” Remus said, a bit weakly.  He did… well, he did like Severus.  They’d been working so closely together for what felt like forever, and…  Once he’d gotten over his hatred of Remus and his furry problem, Severus had become one of his closest friends.

 

Maybe… maybe testing their compatibility wasn’t the worst idea Remus had ever heard.

 

When he left Fenrir that day, because he had classes to teach and needed some form of food before he tried to do that, he had far more on his mind than he could have anticipated.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

It was past midnight, but his students had given him the papers a week ago, and Severus knew that they deserved to know how they’d done.  Overwhelmingly, the answer for the first year potions class was that they’d done terribly, and they needed to know that so that they could work to correct their mistakes before they turned in their next essay.

 

But Merlin, it was after midnight, and Severus had been up since dawn.  Since longer, really, because he’d noticed Remus outside of his window the night before, and while Severus was now close friends with the werewolf, that didn’t mean he wanted the wolf outside of his window.  It had been a nerve-wracking night.

 

“Severus, have you ever been on a date?”

 

The question came out of nowhere, and Severus was embarrassed to admit that he let out a startled little squeak and dropped his quill.  “What on earth are you talking about?” he bit out, trying to cover his embarrassment.  He hadn’t even heard Remus come into his office.

 

“Dating, and you,” Remus said, a bit cheekily.  He came further into Severus’ office and leaned against his desk, casually.

 

Severus flushed and looked down.  “I haven’t, as it happens,” he said.  He just… he hadn’t had time.  Or the inclination, except for with… and that had turned out terribly.  And yes, okay, he’d been thinking that Remus was quite… well.  Quite.  But what would Remus want with him?  He was a surly, greasy, bitter old man.

 

“Not interested in that sort of thing?” Remus asked sympathetically.  He nudged at Severus’ chair with his foot, drawing more of his attention than he’d already taken.

 

“It’s not that,” Severus protested.  He was interested, it had just… never worked out.  “I just… only ever really liked a handful of people.”  Two could technically make a handful, right?

 

“Lily,” Remus murmured, his amber eyes going distant.  “She was pretty amazing, wasn’t she?”

 

Severus looked down at his hands.  “And I treated her terribly,” he admitted in a hushed voice.  “I’m sure she’s going to have words for me when all this is said and done.”

 

“You protected her son, no matter what,” Remus said.  “She’s going to have the same words for you that she will for me, I think, and those words will be of thanks.”  There was no doubt in Remus’ voice, and the surety of his voice made Severus feel a little better at the thought of the afterlife he would inevitably enter.

 

“Thanks,” he said quietly.  He looked up at Remus and offered him a shy smile.

 

Remus swallowed, and Severus blinked at the sudden heat in his eyes.  “So, Lily, and who else?” Remus asked, his voice a little husky.

 

Severus looked down again, blushing once more.  He couldn't say it out loud, could he?  And hear Remus shut him down, even though he’d probably do it quite gently?  Severus had little in the way of self-esteem anyway.  He supposed he might as well get it over with, because he was pretty sure that the only reason Remus was asking at all was because he’d noticed Severus’ responses to him earlier in the week.

 

“You,” he finally said after the silence had stretched uncomfortably.

 

Remus let out a low hum of consideration.  “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked.

 

Severus jumped when a gentle hand touched his hair, long fingers sifting through the strands of it.  “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, his voice a little strangled.  He’d never dated, never been… intimate with anyone, and this… this was strange.  But he thought maybe that he liked it.

 

“Because you don’t want to be with me?” Remus mused.

 

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me!”  Severus looked down, his cheeks painfully red at this point.  “Sorry,” he muttered.  He hadn’t meant to say that.

 

“Severus,” Remus murmured.  He tugged on the strands of Severus’ hair that he’d captured, forcing Severus to look up at him, no matter how little he wanted to.  “I’d like very much to go on dates with you.”

 

Severus’ cheeks felt like they were on fire.  “Yeah?”

 

Remus smiled at him.  “Very much so,” he said, and leaned in and kissed Severus.  It was soft, chaste, and more than Severus had ever thought to have with anyone.

 

His eyes fluttered closed, and when he opened them, he found Remus practically beaming at him.  “Okay,” Severus whispered.  “I don’t…”  He swallowed.  “I don’t have a lot of experience.”

 

“So I gathered,” Remus said.  He kissed Severus again, and when he pulled back, he said, “I don’t mind.”

 

Remus didn’t mind.  Severus supposed that he could work with that.  Although…  “Just… please don’t make lingering outside of my window a habit?” he asked, and hoped that mentioning it didn’t ruin what they were maybe building.

 

Remus laughed, the sound light and happy.  “I’ll do my best,” he said, and kissed Severus again.

 

Very few papers were actually graded that night.


	32. Chapter 31 - Moving

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t like being under Narcissa’s care, it was just that he was starting to chafe under her near-constant observation.  Even when he went out, technically placing himself no longer under her care, she liked to put monitoring spells on him.  That was, if he didn’t sneak out. And when he did successfully sneak out, he got yelled at for the trouble.

 

Which, if he was going to be honest, was kind of nice.  Because being yelled at meant that someone cared about what he was doing.  They were worried about him, and Harry really was grateful for that.

 

It was just that he was tired of being in the hospital.  He’d spent too much time there when he was under Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey’s care, visiting her at least once or twice a year, and never for something minor.

 

So it was that he was practically ecstatic when Narcissa finally said to him, “I think you’re going to be able to move into your new bedroom very soon.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened and he beamed at her.  “You wouldn’t just be saying that so I behave for the next few days, would you?” he asked.  Because that would be sad.  He was more than ready to leave, he thought.  He was doing as well as he could hope, and he wasn’t sure that there was much else that Narcissa could do for him.

 

She smiled at him and shook her head.  “Not at all,” she said easily.  “I think that you’re more than capable of looking after yourself, and I know that my son will be staying with you once you leave my care.  And Draco can certainly be trusted to make sure that you report any strange symptoms that crop up.”

 

That was right.  Draco would be moving in with him, because he’d asked for Draco to.  Did that mean that they’d be sharing a room, or just that Draco would be in a separate bedroom in the same suite?  Either way…

 

Harry blushed and looked down.  Narcissa either didn’t see or chose not to comment, a fact that Harry was grateful for.  He knew she couldn’t possibly want for Harry to have any kind of relationship with her son, at least, not a relationship like that.  Harry was too broken, and he knew that.  She would probably prefer that her child wind up with someone who was actually sane, and who could give her grandchildren.

 

And besides, Harry didn’t even think Draco was interested in him like that.

 

“So, when do I get to leave?” he asked brightly.  He offered her a winsome smile in the hopes of making the blush disappear from his face.

 

It must have worked, because Narcissa smiled back.  “As soon as Draco comes to collect you,” she said.  “Assuming, of course, that you feel as though you’re ready to move on from my constant care.  I wouldn’t want to rush you out of here—”

 

“No, no, you’re not rushing me,” Harry said quickly.  He hopped off the bed and smiled brightly.  “I’m totally ready to go as soon as Draco gets here.  Honest.”  The last thing he wanted was for her to change her mind.

 

She laughed at him and ruffled his hair with gentle fingers.  “You do know that you’ll still be reporting to me on occasion, don’t you?  At least once a week while we get a handle on certain things that I know you’ve been avoiding discussing.”

 

Like the Dursleys, because of course Narcissa knew when Harry was avoiding having an uncomfortable conversation about the way he’d been raised.  He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her only briefly, then gave up on resisting and did so.

 

She just laughed at him again.  She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, there was a tap on the door and Draco entered.

 

“Draco!” Harry chirped.  He couldn’t resist being happy when Draco showed up, and he knew that he wore his emotions on his sleeve at the moment.  His filter was nonexistent, and Narcissa had warned him that he might never get it back to where it was.

 

That was okay.  He was sure that he could fix it eventually.  And if not, it was a small price to pay for actually being free of the ritual’s control.

 

“Hey.”  Draco looked at him and smiled, the expression indulgent.  “I take it that Mother discussed with you the possibility of your leaving today?”

 

Harry’s heart dropped.  “She seemed to imply that it would happen if I was ready,” he muttered.  He really, really hoped that something hadn’t happened to change that without her knowing.  He needed to not be in the hospital wing anymore.  He was ready to be somewhere new, to start again.

 

Every time he woke up in the same sterile bed, he was reminded that he wasn’t well.  Harry was tired of being reminded of that.  He knew.

 

“It will,” Draco said quickly.  “It is happening, I mean to say.  I was just looking over our room, making sure that everything we needed was in place before we move in.”

 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  “You’re rooming with me?”  It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to having roommates, it was just that he hadn’t been sure of what would happen when he asked if Draco could live with him and Voldemort as well.

 

Now Draco hesitated.  “Was that… not what you wanted?” he asked carefully.  There was something in his voice, almost guarded.

 

“No, no, that’s what I wanted, I just wasn’t sure if it would happen or not,” Harry said quickly, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out.  “I’m glad we’ll be staying together.”  He smiled at Draco, hoping to convey how happy he was with the arrangement.

 

“Okay,” Draco said.  He reached out to Harry and took his hand.  “Then… are you ready to go and see your new room?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, staring down at their joined hands.  When Draco made to pull away, probably thinking he was uncomfortable, Harry clenched his fingers around Draco’s hand until Draco stopped tugging.  “Let’s go,” he said, a bit shakily.  He liked holding Draco’s hand, and he knew he probably shouldn’t, because nothing was ever going to come of it, but he liked it anyway.

 

The walk through the castle was a quiet one.  As they walked, they wandered past the dungeons, and Harry found himself pausing.  “What is it?” Draco asked, after Harry ignored the tugging on his hand as Draco tried to pull him along.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said slowly.  Were Ginny and Hermione still in there?  And if they were… if they were, maybe he might want to see them.  He didn’t think that Voldemort would have killed them without telling him, would he have?

 

Not that he’d seen Voldemort much since he’d started really recovering.  But that was an issue for another time.

 

He let himself be towed away from the dungeons, and they went further into the castle.  They passed a number of Death Eaters, all of whom gave Harry a wide berth.  One or two followed Draco with something dark in their eyes, like jealousy, and Harry made sure to glower back at those people.  He didn’t know what they were jealous of, but they shouldn’t look at Draco like that.

 

“Why are people staring at you?” Harry finally asked as they entered a more disused part of the castle, and after glowering at the third person to glare after Draco.

 

Draco hesitated, then shrugged.  “Probably because I’m working so closely with you, and you have our lord’s favor,” he said.  “Being friends with you is a good way to gain the Dark Lord’s favor, and they see me as an obstacle.”

 

Harry wrinkled his nose.  “I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyone who saw me as a stepping stone anyway,” he said.

 

Draco paused outside of a door that would have seemed nondescript, were it not for the portrait of a hook-nosed man who could only be Salazar Slytherin guarding it.  “Then you’ll need to watch out for who you befriend among the Death Eaters,” he said gravely.  “And bear in mind that the majority of us are Slytherins, who are always ambitious and cunning.  Most Death Eaters are searching constantly for ways to get ahead.”

 

Harry didn’t like the idea of that much at all.  “But you’re not using me like that,” he said with quiet certainty.  “You’d still be friends with me no matter what.”

 

Draco sighed.  “You’re right,” he said, self-deprecating, like it was a bad thing.  “I would have been your friend no matter what, had you given me the chance, long before this.”  Then he cleared his throat and looked away.  “Animus arce,” he said clearly, and the door swung open.

 

Harry didn’t know what it meant, but he filed the words away anyway.  He didn’t have to understand a password to speak it, and it didn’t sound like it was anything terrible.

 

The common area they entered was brightly lit, with massive windows on either side of it.  They were up in a tower, Harry knew, but he also knew the windows weren’t actually real windows.  It would be impossible to see the Great Lake and the Forbidden Forest given their positions.  It was okay, though, because they gave the illusion of being real, and they were both beautiful.

 

There were a handful of couches and chairs, with the setup vaguely reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, including the massive fireplace closest to one of the couches.  Harry would bet that it wasn’t hooked up to the Floo network, though..  There were four doors leading off from the common area, and Harry sort of wanted to explore all four of them, but waited for Draco to tell him where they led.

 

“The first door leads to a small dining area,” Draco said, indicating the door to their left.  “The second to the Dark Lord’s bedroom.  He is not to be disturbed except for in the most dire of emergencies, although I suppose there’s a chance he’ll have a different rule in place for you.”

 

Harry couldn't imagine that Voldemort would want Harry to be disturbing him when he was asleep, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he would have the courage to do so anyway, except for if the tower was on fire, or something equally awful was happening.

 

“The third door leads to a secondary office for the Dark Lord.  If he’s not using it, you are more than welcome to make use of the desk.  He would prefer it if I were not in there, however.”  Draco spoke evenly, matter of factly, and Harry found himself wondering if it offended him that he wasn’t invited to make use of the office the way that Harry was.  Before he could ask, Draco led him to the fourth door, the one on the far right.  “And this, of course, leads to our bedroom.”

 

Harry hesitated, then opened the door.  He found himself facing a spiral staircase, and he went up it slowly.  He emerged into a large, round room, with two massive beds on either side of it.  They were larger than the standard Hogwarts beds, although they still had the curtains that could be drawn closed.  His trunk was already in place, and there were two desks in the room as well, along with two chairs.

 

There was a fireplace, already roaring, so the room was comfortably warm.  It was decorated in greens and golds, a nice combination of Slytherin and Gryffindor coloring, and there were thick rugs covering the cold stone of the floor.  There was a door off to one side of the room, which Harry presumed led to their own private bathroom.

 

He stepped further into the room, a little shaky on his feet.  It felt… it felt like home, and he’d never even spent a single night there yet.

 

Draco followed him up and went to settle on one of the beds, the one closest to the door.  He smiled at Harry.  “What do you think?” he asked, his voice almost gentle.

 

Harry crossed the room to settle on his own bed, perching there gingerly.  When he found it was comfortable, he flopped back on the bed and let out a great sigh of pleasure.  “I think it’s perfect,” he said honestly.

 

He was home, and he loved it.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two - Gilded Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  This chapter contains torture and character death in the third scene.  It’s one you’ve all been waiting for, but I thought I’d throw a warning up just in case.

 

Harry was doing better, that much Voldemort couldn't deny.  Nor did he want to, because that had been the whole goal behind taking Hogwarts when they did.  His jealousy that a good deal of Harry’s mental stability seemed to come from his friendship with the Malfoy boy, though… that he wanted to deny.

 

So he shoved it aside, and instead offered Harry a polite, bland smile as they met in his office.  “So, you think you’re going to start attending classes with the other children your age?”  It was a good thing to emphasize, Harry’s age.  Maybe then he could successfully remind himself of how very inappropriate he was being.

 

He should be glad that Harry was bonding with someone of his own age.  Voldemort was determined to remind himself of that fact, especially given Harry’s history with betrayal.

 

“I’m thinking about it,” Harry said.  He looked down at his hands, which were knotted in his lap.  “You… are…”  He stopped and took a deep breath.

 

The Malfoy boy touched him on the shoulder, drawing his attention.  “It’s okay,” he said softly.  “The Dark Lord won’t be angry with you for your question.”

 

“Of course I won’t,” Voldemort said quickly.  Why would Harry think he’d be angry with him?  Voldemort would never be angry at someone for just asking… well, that wasn’t quite fair, and he knew it.  He might grow angry with a common follower, but Harry wasn’t that.  Harry was his horcrux, one of the people who were most precious to him.  He would never be angry with Harry for asking a question.

 

“Are Hermione and Ginny still alive?” Harry asked finally, his voice small.

 

Voldemort leaned back in his chair.  “They are,” he said slowly.  “Why do you ask?”

 

Harry looked up at him, then looked away.  He was silent for a long stretch of time.

 

“Harry,” Draco prompted quietly.  “The Dark Lord asked you a question.”

 

Harry jumped, his eyes widening a little.   “I was thinking that maybe I could go and see them,” he said, the words tumbling out over themselves.  “I’m sorry, I thought I’d spoken out loud.”  There was shame in his voice.

 

Voldemort didn’t like to hear it, and he almost resented the Malfoy brat for putting it there.  On the other hand, had Draco not spoken up, he might never have known what Harry wanted.  “It’s fine,” he said, as kindly as he could manage.  “Never apologize for the results of having that ritual done on you, Harry.  It wasn’t your fault, and the consequences certainly aren’t either.”

 

Harry’s face brightened.  “Thanks,” he said.  He looked away again.  “Do you think that I could visit with them?”

 

The return to their original topic was a little abrupt, but conversations with Harry tended to be a bit twistier than normal ones at this point in his recovery.  Narcissa said that she couldn’t be certain, but she thought it was a harmless thing that might never go away, along with Harry’s general refusal to wear normal shoes and his inability to conceal his emotions.

 

“I don’t know that it’s the best idea,” Voldemort said slowly.  He glanced at Draco, who wasn’t meeting his eyes.  “Why do you want to meet with them, Harry?”

 

“I just…”  Harry sighed.  He offered nothing more.

 

“Harry,” Voldemort prompted into the silence that fell.

 

Harry scowled.  “I fucking hate that,” he muttered, clearly not intending to be heard.  “I just want to see if maybe they might…  I don’t know, maybe they’ll apologize?  For… you know, for hurting me?”

 

Draco shook his head, but he was out of Harry’s sight line so that he couldn’t see it.  Voldemort did, and frankly, he agreed with the gesture.  If that was Harry’s intention, he was afraid that the boy was going to be disappointed.  He didn’t want to be the one who brought that disappointment down on Harry’s shoulders.

 

But on the other hand, would Harry ever accept their deaths if he didn’t allow him to see Hermione and Ginny one last time?  Maybe, if he saw how badly a conversation with them went, he would be more able to accept their deaths when the time came for them to actually die.  Or maybe it would just break his heart even more.

 

Voldemort sighed.  “What does Narcissa think of this?” he asked.  The Healer would probably have some thoughts about it, and maybe she would save him from having to make a decision in this instance.

 

“She thinks that closure might not be a bad idea,” Draco said.  He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him close, and Voldemort’s eyes narrowed when Harry nestled in closer to him.

 

He forced himself to go back to looking neutral.  His jealousy was unacceptable.  If Harry wanted to be close to Draco, then he should have that, no matter what Voldemort’s feelings on the matter were.  “And if the conversation doesn’t go well?” he asked.

 

Harry smiled brightly at him, but didn’t speak out loud. This time, he caught it a few seconds later and his smile faded into a small scowl.  “I’m ready for that possibility,” he said shortly.  

 

Voldemort still hated the idea of letting him go see the two shrews still held in the cells in the dungeons, but his relationship with Harry, such as it was, was fragile enough that he didn’t want to risk telling him no.  Besides… if he and Draco stayed the whole time, surely nothing too terrible could go wrong.  Right?

 

“Very well,” he said with a sigh.  “When would you like to go see them?”

 

Harry brightened again.  “Now?”  The hope in his voice was thick.  “Please?  I need to know whether or not they hate me, because they were my friends once, or I thought they were, and I—”  Harry cut himself off, frowning.

 

“Now is fine,” Voldemort said.  He stood up.  “Shall we, then?”

 

Within the privacy of his own mind, he hoped that Narcissa was on hand to deal with the fallout from what was likely going to be a terrible disaster.  He could see no future in which this ended well, and many in which he wound up murdering one, if not both, of the girls in his dungeon.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure that going to see Hermione and Ginny was the best of ideas, but he… he needed to.  He couldn’t really explain it, and the words he’d offered to Voldemort had been shoddy at best, but he just… he  _ needed _ to.

 

He had to try one last time to see if they could at least part ways peacefully, if not as friends.  

 

Hermione was the first one that they visited.  She was sitting in her cell, in the very center, on a wooden chair.  She’d been tied in place, and Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe it was for his benefit that she was positioned in that way.  He could see that she was relatively uninjured, with a few healing cuts that looked like words, but she seemed to be fine, otherwise.

 

She opened her eyes when they approached, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of Harry.  She said nothing.

 

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry whispered.  He knew that he should feel something at seeing her in such condition, but he felt… nothing.  He wasn’t happy to see that she’d been tortured at one point, but he wasn’t angry about it either.  It was a strange, neutral feeling, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

 

“I just… wanted to see you,” he said, a bit lamely.  He wanted to talk to her, to find out why she’d hated him so much that she’d been willing to see him turned into nothing more than a puppet, but he couldn’t get the words out.  And she remained totally unresponsive, anyway, her eyes dark and cold.

 

“I don’t think she’s going to talk to me,” he said, a bit sadly, to Draco.  Voldemort stepped forward, his hand on his wand, but Harry held up a hand to stop him.  “Please don’t make her,” he whispered.  That would be even worse than her silence, he thought.

 

Voldemort dipped his head in acknowledgment and stepped back once more.

 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco murmured.  He gave Harry a quick, gentle hug.  “You don’t need her,” he whispered in Harry’s ear before pulling back and offering him a smile.

 

For a moment, Harry wanted… no.  No, he didn’t want anything.  Draco was a good friend, and nothing more.  Why would Harry want anything else from him?  Besides, even if he did, which he didn’t, he knew he was too broken for someone like Draco to ever be interested in.

 

He smiled back and left Hermione’s cell behind, and continued further in.  He found Ginny’s cell easily, as it was the only other occupied one.  She, too, was sitting in the middle of the room, much as Hermione had been.  Unlike Hermione, however, she was not silent.

 

“Come to gloat?” she sneered.

 

Harry blinked at her.  “No?”  Why would he gloat?  Did she think this was something he’d wanted?  The truth couldn’t be more different.  He would have rathered they stay good friends, would have rathered that she never try to force him to marry her.

 

“Such a fucking freak,” she muttered.  She jerked against her bindings, and Harry saw that her wrists were red and raw where she was bound.  She’d been struggling for a while if they looked like that.  “I don’t know why anyone would want to marry you anyway, what with you being such a failure at everything,” she snarled.  Her eyes burned when she looked at him.

 

Harry took an uncertain step back.  “What are you talking about?”  His voice broke midway through the question.  Did she hate him that much?  What had he ever done to her?  “Y-you, you wanted to marry me, didn’t you?”

 

“Marry you?” she echoed, incredulous.  “You think that I wanted—”  She cut herself off, laughing.  “Oh, Harry, no one would ever want to marry you!  What with the way that the Dursleys raised you, you aren’t suitable for anyone to start a family with!”

 

And that… that hurt, that hurt a lot.  Harry found himself blinking back tears.  “Then why?” he whispered.  He wanted to ask more, to say something else, but he couldn’t force the words out around the lump in his throat.  He backed up again, and this time he ran into Draco, who immediately wrapped his arms around his waist and held him tightly, pulling him close so that Harry’s back was flush against his stomach.

 

“For the money, of course,” she said, like it was obvious.  She rolled her eyes.  “Come on, Harry, it was always about the money!  You had so much of it, and it wasn’t like you deserved it.  And you were so needy, you actually thought my family liked you.  I can’t tell you how much Mum and I laughed about—”

 

“ _ Crucio _ !”

 

The spell, barked by Voldemort, turned her words into screams, but it was too late.  The damage had been done.  Harry turned away from her, tears leaking from his eyes, and buried his face in Draco’s robes.  “Kill her,” he begged.

 

In that moment, it was all that he wanted, and with his inhibitions as low as they were thanks to the weeks spent under the ritual’s control, he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort had known it was going to go badly, but he hadn’t imagined that it would go as badly as it had.  A foolish mistake, and one that he would make sure never happened again.  He let the bitch writhe in her chair, let her scream, while Draco did his best to soothe Harry.

 

Once Harry was a little more coherent, Voldemort said, “Do you still want me to do it?”  He didn’t want Harry to regret his request, even if he now had the perfect idea for what to do to the Weasley bitch.

 

“Yes,” Harry whimpered.  “Do it.  But make it quick?”

 

Voldemort wasn’t particularly inclined to give her an easy death, but if it was what Harry wanted…  He cancelled the spell on the girl and raised his wand once more, a Killing Curse on his lips.  But before he could speak it, the girl blurted out, “We all would have been so much better off if you’d died with your whore of a mother!”

 

Voldemort stilled.  “Are you sure you want it to be quick?” he asked.  “Because I’m more than capable of making her hurt.”

 

Harry swallowed.  His eyes had hardened, and there was fire starting inside of them.  His face went almost mask-like, almost like it had been when he’d begged Voldemort to make Dumbledore suffer.  “Please make it hurt,” he whispered, and then buried his face in Draco’s robes once more.  “My mother wasn’t a whore.”

 

“Of course she wasn’t,” Draco said immediately.

 

“Give me your arm, Draco,” Voldemort commanded after knocking the Weasley girl unconscious.  He used Draco’s Mark to summon a full assembly in the Great Hall, then ordered the brat to be transported there while he walked more slowly with Harry and Draco.

 

Harry was still borderline hysterical, working himself up every time Draco got him calm,  while Draco did his best to help settle him down.  It would almost be entertaining if it were anyone but Harry in such a state.

 

While Draco worked to calm him, Voldemort made several arrangements.  By the time Harry was calm enough, by the time they’d made their way to the Great Hall, those arrangements were in place.

 

The Weasley girl was suspended in the air, her arms and legs bound tightly together.  She was trying to yell, to struggle, but her bindings were tight and she was gagged.  In the middle of the Great Hall, Gringotts had been kind enough to supply a massive furnace.  Voldemort didn’t know how they’d transported it, and frankly, he didn’t care.

 

Coming from the furnace and into a heated vat was a river a liquid gold, melted from dozens of gold bars.  What he had in mind would be expensive, but he didn’t particularly care.  It wasn’t like he didn’t have money to burn, given the fortunes at his disposal.

 

He waited in silence as the vat filled, once it was full enough, he smiled.  The Weasley girl was lowered onto a special grate that would allow the excess liquid gold to drain away, and back into the furnace, where it would eventually be turned into Galleons.

 

“So, all you wanted was his gold, hmm?” he asked, and touched her face almost gently with the tip of his wand.  “Well, now you’ll have all the gold you could ever want.”

 

She began to struggle even more frantically, tears streaming down her cheeks, but Voldemort didn’t care.  Let her cry.  She’d made Harry cry, and for that, she deserved every bit of what was to come.  He hit her with an Imperius curse, and directed her into a more aesthetically pleasing position.  He could have kept her looking terrified, but he didn’t think that was quite what he wanted.

 

After all, wasn’t it more scary for her to have appeared to go to her fate willingly?

 

Then he released her from the curse after immobilizing her completely.  She wouldn’t float easily to her death, but she wouldn’t be able to ruin his new statue, either.

 

“Pour it,” he commanded the goblin who was standing by the vat of liquid gold.

 

She screamed, the sound muffled by her inability to move her lips from the smile he’d forced them into.  Her muscles jerked as the gold hit her skin, but she was unable to get away from it.  It had to be excruciating, as Voldemort could feel the heat from the gold even from where he was standing, far back enough to not be in any danger of being splashed.

 

It wasn’t a quick thing.  She had to be turned over at one point, and the gold had to be poured multiple times to make sure that it wouldn’t break, but eventually, it was over.

 

“Dismissed,” he said to his Death Eaters, and to the children that had come to watch.  Let that be a lesson to them.  They might see how kind he was to Harry and think he was going soft, but the truth couldn’t be more different.

 

Harry was still and silent beside him as the hall emptied, his eyes wide.  Eventually, he approached the statue with Draco at his side.  Draco kept him from touching it, so Voldemort turned his attention elsewhere.

 

“You can have her mounted on a base?” he asked the goblin who’d poured the gold.  What was his name again?  He supposed it didn’t matter.

 

“Of course,” the goblin answered, his voice gravelly.  “We’ll have that done for you by the end of the day.  Should we have her delivered back to the Great Hall?”

 

Voldemort turned and considered the room.  “Yes,” he said finally.  He pointed to a spot that received particularly good light from the artificial ceiling, right next to the entrance to the Great Hall.  It would remind everyone of the dangers of crossing him as soon as they entered the room.  “Put her there, if you’d be so kind.”

 

“Of course,” the goblin said.  He bowed, then snapped his fingers.  Immediately, the other goblins who’d been on hand during the procedure jumped into motion, and within moments, everything was cleared away and the Hall was as empty as it had been before.

 

Harry turned to him and smiled, the expression bright and warm and so happy that it almost took Voldemort’s breath away.  “Thank you,” he breathed.  “You..”  He stopped.

 

Voldemort wasn’t sure if he’d stopped on purpose or not, but he didn’t press.  Instead, he said, “It was my pleasure.”

 

He was startled when Harry darted forward and hugged him tightly, his arms like a vice around Voldemort’s stomach.  With wide eyes, Voldemort carefully wrapped Harry in a gentle embrace, treating him like he was fragile, breakable.  Because he was.

 

He closed his eyes and savored the embrace, but knew that he was going to need to figure out how to get over this, and fast.  Harry was obviously going to be with Draco, and to try and manipulate him into being with Voldemort would be a gross abuse of his horcrux.

 

He had to let go of his feelings.  Nothing else would be appropriate at this point.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There once was a reviewer who suggested I lock Ginny in a vault, and I was going to go with that.  Then I remembered a scene from Dragon Age II, and I was inspired to turn Ginny into a statue.  I hope you enjoyed it, and that it was worth the wait!
> 
>  
> 
> (god it feels weird to write stuff like that about torture/death)


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three - Ron

 

Even though he had known from the beginning, from the point where he had first told Draco about the underground passages, that his sister and Hermione were unlikely to survive the remainder of the war, it was still incredibly difficult for Ron to stand by and watch as his sister was encased, still living, inside solid gold.

 

He wondered, vaguely, what she’d done to earn such a harsh treatment, and the decided that he was probably better off not knowing.  It was likely something he would have said wasn’t deserving of that response, and that might have gotten him into the same trouble.  Well, probably not the same exact trouble since he’d done everything in his power to save Harry, but into some trouble to be certain.

 

Ron didn’t look away from his sister’s final moments, no matter how much he wanted to.  He didn’t want to watch her being tortured, but he couldn’t bear to leave her alone, no matter how alone she really was.  So he watched, and hated himself for doing nothing but watching, and grieved for her death.

 

No matter how terrible she’d been, no matter what she’d done to Harry, she was still his sister, and he still loved her.  He would miss her very much.

 

When it was over, when they were dismissed from the Dark Lord’s presence, Ron left without looking back.  He would return to the Great Hall later, he decided, when there weren’t any people around to watch him mourn his sister’s loss.

 

There were no classes that day, and as such, there was nothing to really distract Ron from his grief.  Still, he tried his best to keep himself distracted, engaging in a chess tournament with some of the other Slytherins in his age group.  He found that Theo was truly terrible at chess, while Pansy was a force to be reckoned with.  Daphne elected not to play at all, leaving Ron guessing about her abilities.

 

Later that night, when everyone else seemed to be asleep, Ron slipped out of bed and left the Slytherin common room.  He headed back to the Great Hall, where he found his sister’s statue prominently displayed for everyone who entered to see.  Ron let out a shuddering, shaky sigh and sat in front of it on the floor.

 

“I’m sorry you’re gone,” he whispered, his throat choked.  “But I think that you would have hated to live, and to see what Harry’s probably going to become.  I don’t foresee him ever betraying the Dark Lord, and I think that you would have been miserable watching him be… whatever it is that he’s going to be, now.”

 

He wiped at the tears that were forming in his eyes.  “I guess I just hoped that you’d be able to get home, to see Mum and tell her that I’m sorry for me, since I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.  And that’s a shitty reason for me to be sorry that you’re dead, so don’t think that it’s the only reason.  It’s just a reason, one of many.  You were my baby sister, and you know that I was supposed to protect you…”

 

Ron had known that was never going to happen, and he supposed that he wasn’t really surprised that she’d been killed.  Ginny was never going to survive the war; most of his family probably wasn’t going to survive.  And those that did, they probably wouldn’t think of him as family anymore.

 

He’d given up his family for Harry.

 

He’d known that was what he was doing, he’d known it all along, but somehow it suddenly seemed so much more real than it had.

 

He started to cry, and he didn’t try to stop himself.  He wasn’t just mourning for Ginny, although she was certainly a part of what he was mourning.  He was mourning the loss of his family, the loss of everything he’d ever known.  He’d thought he’d gotten it out of the way before, when he’d been trapped alone in Gryffindor tower, but he was apparently not done grieving.

 

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, strong and yet soothing.  He opened tear-blurred eyes to find himself looking at Daphne, who watched him with a soft, sympathetic expression.  She settled next to him and drew him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

 

“If there’s one thing that purebloods understand, it’s family,” she murmured to him.  She hugged him tightly.  “I cannot imagine the grief you must be feeling right now, and I would not care to.  Just know that I’m not here to judge you.”

 

Ron closed his eyes and let himself start sobbing once more, burying himself in her embrace.  It felt like an eternity that he cried while she held him, but in the end, he felt much better.  “Thanks,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

 

“It was no problem,” she murmured back.  She squeezed him tightly once more, then helped him to his feet.  “Now, classes will start again tomorrow, so you should probably get some rest.  It’s late.”

 

Ron wouldn’t have said that he was particularly tired, but he knew that she was right.  Snape was an exacting taskmaster at the best of times, and lately, it seemed like he was never at his best.  Probably because he was teaching three subjects, and all of them were Ron’s least favorite.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Even though he knew it was probably a terrible idea and that she wouldn’t thank him for it, the next day, Ron waited until after classes and then headed to the actual dungeons proper, where he asked to see Hermione.  Daphne, even though she clearly thought him insane, walked with him, and waited outside the cells with the guards, who let Ron pass after a moment of conversation.

 

Ron entered the cells, and found Hermione easily enough.  She stood when she saw him coming, her eyes burning with hatred.  “Come to gloat about how you landed on the winning side?” she asked, her voice venomous.

 

Ron shook his head.  “I didn’t,” he said.  “I came to see…  I guess to see how you were doing.  To see if maybe you’d considered…”

 

“Being a traitor?” she asked snidely.  “Like you are?  No, thank you.  I would rather die on the side of the righteous than betray everything I’ve ever stood for.  Unlike you.”

 

Ron flinched.  He hadn’t betrayed  _ everything _ he’d ever stood for.  He hadn’t betrayed his friend, and weren’t Weasleys supposed to be loyal?  To family, he knew, but didn’t that also include friends?  If it didn’t, he thought that it should.

 

Hermione clearly saw weakness in the flinch.  “And what do you have to show for your betrayal, Ron?  A sister locked in a cage, an old friend locked in another, and a friend on the outside who probably can’t be bothered to give you the time of day since he knows that you and I were spying on him for years?  Some winning side you chose.”  She scoffed and turned her back on him.

 

When she put it like that…  “It was the right thing to do, getting Harry away from Dumbledore.  It was just… unfortunate that it meant giving him Hogwarts in the process.”

 

She let out a bark of laughter.  “Oh, yes, it was the right thing to do to make sure that the only person who could defeat Voldemort would probably never want to.”

 

Ron didn’t bother to respond to that argument.  She was right, if she wanted to look at it like that.  Voldemort would likely never be defeated, not if the prophecy was correct, but…  But hadn’t they learned in Divinations that prophecies, even real ones, were notoriously unreliable?  Who said that Harry was the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord?  And… and besides, he was just a kid, like Ron.  Shouldn’t that be an adult’s job?

 

But none of that was why he’d gone to see Hermione.  “I wanted to warn you,” he said quietly.  “You should know that Ginny is dead, and that… the way that she died…”  Ron shuddered.  “I just… you’re probably not going to last much longer, and I hope that you’re… careful about what you say if Harry comes to see you.  Because I’m sure she said something to hurt him, and that’s what made things worse.”

 

Hermione turned to glare at him, her eyes cutting.  “I heard every word of their conversation,” she bit out.  “And trust me when I say that every word that Ginny said to him was, if a little cruel, entirely true, and I wouldn’t hesitate to say the same things that she did.”

 

Ron stumbled back, away from her.  She was… different, then he’d remembered.  She’d always been a factual person, by the book, but she’d never been unnecessarily cruel.  He wondered for a second what had changed, but realized that being locked away in a dungeon cell, probably being tortured intermittently, was a good enough reason to change.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that you feel that way,” he said, backing up another step, this one more controlled.  “I just came to warn you, but if that’s how you feel, I suppose there isn’t anything I can do about it.”

 

“No,” she said coldly.  “There isn’t.  I hope you mourn me when I’m dead as well, Ron Weasley.”  Then she sat down with her back to him and said nothing more to him.

 

Ron left, his feet heavy.  When he emerged from the cells, Daphne was still there, sitting on a bench, reading quietly.  She stood up and put her book in her bag when she spotted him.  “Did you get what you came for?” she asked, her voice soft and warm.

 

“I think so,” Ron said.  He had closure, at least.  He’d done what he could to convince her to change her attitude, and there was nothing else he could do for her.  Not if she was determined to get herself killed by being cruel to Harry.

 

“Then let’s get out of here,” Daphne said firmly.  “I hate it in the dungeons, and besides, we’ve almost missed dinner.”  She shivered, a bit theatrically, and followed Ron as they left.

 

It wasn’t until they were almost at the common room that Ron realized what she’d said.  “But the Slytherin common room is in the dungeons!” he protested before they could enter.

 

Daphne laughed at him, light and lilting.  “I did wonder when you would pick up on that,” she teased.  “But I suppose you have a lot on your mind, don’t you?”  She patted him on the shoulder, then flitted away into the room.

 

Ron followed, getting the sense that he’d missed something, but he wasn’t sure what.  Merlin, but girls were weird.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

It was after lunch the next day that Harry made his next appearance, and he startled Ron with a tight hug as soon as he spotted him.  Instinctively, Ron hugged back, but then pushed Harry back gently by the shoulders, only to find that Harry was staring at him with teary green eyes.

 

“What’s this?” Ron asked, and smiled at him, hoping to ease whatever it was that was bothering him.  He’d never seen Harry cry before, aside from when he’d been in that strange state he’d emerged from the ritual in, and Ron didn’t think that he liked it.  Harry wasn’t meant for tears.

 

“I didn’t know that Voldemort was going to make you watch what he did to Ginny,” Harry whispered, and flung his arms around Ron once more.  “I’m so sorry, because I know that you loved her very much.”

 

Ron closed his eyes and hugged Harry tightly.  “Thank you,” he murmured.  He held Harry for several long minutes before pulling back.  “But I’m going to be fine, okay?  Don’t you worry about me.  I’ve got some other friends looking out for me.”

 

Even if Daphne had left a jewelry catalogue lying around the night before, with something circled.  She’d left it right in Ron’s eyesight, and he had no idea why she’d done that, or how she expected him to buy it if it was some kind of hint.  He was even more broke than he’d been in the past, since he didn’t have a family anymore.

 

“I’m glad,” Harry said.  He entwined his fingers with Ron’s, and Ron mused that his friend had grown significantly more tactile since the ritual had broken.  He didn’t hate it, it was just interesting.

 

“Want to go for a walk outside?” Harry chirped.  He stuck out one foot, revealing a dark green dragon slipper.  “I’m even wearing shoes, sort of, so Draco can’t complain.”

 

“Draco could choose to complain, but won’t,” the blonde said.  “I’d like a walk outside, if I’m allowed to come, that is.”  The last was said teasingly, and as Ron watched in amazement, Harry blushed.

 

“Of course you’re allowed to come,” he sputtered.  Then he giggled a little and drew Ron outside.

 

It was while he was wandering ahead of them both, on the path to the Great Lake, that Draco asked Ron, “Are you sure that you’re okay with what happened to your sister?”

 

Ron shook his head.  “Not at all,” he admitted.  “But I think I’ll get there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then nodded.  “One of the people you’re spending time with is Daphne, right?”

 

Ron hesitated.  “Yes?”  What did that have to do with anything?

 

“You should look up pureblood Courting Etiquette,” Draco said.  “I think she might be interested in being courted, and it would be a good move for you.”  Then, while Ron was standing completely still, absolutely flabbergasted, he ran ahead to catch Harry.

 

Courting etiquette?  What did that even mean?


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four - The Outside World

 

Bill packed his things away for the day, then sat and stared at the picture that had graced his desk at the Gringotts branch on Diagon Alley for years.  It was a picture of his family, all together for once, that they’d taken in Egypt.  Everyone looked so happy together, especially his parents.  Merlin, he’d looked so young…

 

He felt older than he was, now.  Now that Ginny’s hand had fallen off the clock, and Ron’s hand had never once switched over to mortal peril…

 

It was telling.  Bill didn’t like to think about what it meant; none of their family wanted to acknowledge it.  That the fact that he’d been in Hogwarts during the assault, but hadn’t been in danger… it meant that he’d been in on the assault.

 

The thought hurt, so Bill shoved away from it, packing it away like he’d packed away his notebook and quill.  He stood up, waving goodbye to his fellow curse breakers, making polite conversation on his way out.  None of them knew that Ginny was dead; Bill hadn’t seen the point in telling them.

 

She was dead.  His parents were broken hearted.  What more could he say about it?  Their empty words of condolence would be just that, empty.

 

And he didn’t know how much of that he could take.  Because he was angry, of course he was.  He wanted nothing more than to go after the one who’d killed her, who could only be a Death Eater.  He didn’t know which one, didn’t know if it had been Ron himself, but he knew it had been one, and he was… 

 

It didn’t matter.

 

“Heading out someplace important?” Rocktip asked as he joined Bill on his way out of the bank.  The goblin was a grim, quiet little thing, but Bill had noticed recently that he’d taken to asking him more questions than he’d once done.

 

The goblins were asking all of their human employees a lot of questions, probably hoping to weed out disloyalty before it became a problem.  As annoying as it was, Bill supposed he couldn’t really be too frustrated by it.  They were all under contract, after all.

 

“I have a date,” he said neutrally.  “She’s waiting for me at The Silver Dragon.”  The elite restaurant wasn’t one that he would normally spring for, but Fleur was worth it, and she was used to the finer things in life.

 

Bill wasn’t sure how he felt about that part of her, but he loved the rest, so he supposed he’d learn to deal with it.

 

Rocktip let out a low laugh, the sound like stones rubbing against one another.  “Sounds like a good time.  Better not keep her waiting for too long.”  He turned away just before Bill hit the door, not even bothering to be subtle about it.

 

The mood in Diagon Alley was darker than it had once been.  Everyone was quieter, and people tended to look two or three times at others, as though trying to figure out if they were hiding a Dark Mark under their sleeves.  Everyone was waiting for Voldemort to make his next move, now that he’d apparently consolidated power around Hogwarts, but so far…  so far he’d done nothing.

 

It was making everyone nervous.  There was a curfew in effect now, and it probably wouldn’t go away until the war was over.  If it ever was.

 

Bill shoved that thought away as well, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  The war would end, and good would triumph.  It would likely mean that he’d lose a brother on top of the sister he’d already lost, but the war would end.

 

It had to.

 

He gave his name to the waiter at The Silver Dragon, and the waiter nodded, smiled, and immediately led him back to the table he’d reserved almost three months ago.  Fleur was already there, waiting, and stood to greet him with a smile and a kiss pressed to his cheek.

 

He tried to return the expression, but he knew it wasn’t quite up to his normal amount of cheer.  When they sat, he confessed before she could ask, “Ginny’s hand fell off the clock two nights ago.”

 

Fleur let out a small gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.  Immediately, she wrapped her other hand around his and squeezed tightly.  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she breathed.  She pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss there.  “We could have postponed, Bill.  I would not have minded.”

 

Bill shook his head.  “I thought about it,” he admitted.  “But I wanted to see you, and postponing wouldn’t have really helped anything.”

 

Her face lit up in a soft smile.  “I will do my best to comfort you,” she murmured.  “How are your parents taking it?”

 

“Not well,” he admitted.  “I don’t think Mum has stopped crying since it happened, and Father’s just been… quiet.  I think that they were still hoping that she’d come home safely, even though she didn’t get released with the rest of the Hogwarts children.”  The ones who weren’t the children of Death Eaters, anyway.

 

Fleur squeezed his hand.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “I know this must be hard on all of you.  She was your baby sister, and I know that you loved her very much.”

 

“I did,” Bill agreed.  “But, unlike them, I sort of suspected that it wasn’t going to go well.  Unlike Ron, whose hand never touched mortal peril, hers was there the entire time she stayed at Hogwarts.  And the Dark Lord isn’t known for showing mercy to those who cross him.”

 

She was silent for a long moment.  “What are you going to do now?” she asked finally.

 

“What do you mean?”  Bill frowned at her.  “We’re going to have a funeral, of course, but other than that…”

 

Fleur shook her head.  “I mean, are you going to involve yourself further in the war?”  Her hand tightened spasmodically on his as she asked the question.  “I would worry for you, but I would respect—”

 

“I can’t,” Bill interrupted.  “My contract with Gringotts demands neutrality in the face of human conflicts, unless Gringotts itself chooses a side.  Then, and only then, am I allowed to intervene on Gringotts’ behalf.”

 

The look of relief on Fleur’s face was almost painful, but before Bill could address it, their sommelier came by to see what they might be interested in drinking that night, derailing the conversation.  Bill couldn't help but be glad for the distraction.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“Let’s discuss Hogwarts.”

 

Rufus fought back a groan and the urge to slap himself on the forehead.  It was a topic brought up at every meeting, how appalling it was that Hogwarts had been taken and how horrifying it was that they weren’t trying to take it back, but his advisors refused to understand that they simply didn’t have the manpower needed to take on Voldemort while he had embedded himself in the fortress that was Hogwarts.

 

That was especially true if he’d successfully found the wardstone, and there was no one to report whether he had or not.  No spy could penetrate the castle, and no one that went in was coming back out.

 

Hogwarts was, to put it plainly, a nightmare.

 

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said tiredly, for what felt like the thousandth time.  “We can’t get in to take the school back, and even if we could, it would be a bloody fight.  We’d likely lose most, if not all of our men, and we cannot afford to undertake something like that.  Not when we have no way of guaranteeing the fall of the Dark Lord.”

 

Pius Thicknesse, who was not his choice to lead the DMLE but was at least a choice, glared at him.  “So what do you plan to do, Rufus?  Just sit around and wait for He Who Must Not Be Named to attack us on his own terms, so that he can take the Ministry as well?”

 

Rufus didn’t dare say out loud that Voldemort probably already had the Ministry.  He didn’t want to think it.  But none of his advisors, none of his department heads, they didn’t know what he knew about the prophecy.

 

There was only one person who could defeat the Dark Lord, and nobody even knew if the Potter boy was still alive.  And if he was, whether he was in any kind of shape to actually defeat Voldemort.

 

The answer, as little as Rufus wanted to think about it, was probably not.  He was probably dead, or if he was alive, was likely in such a state as to make combat impossible.  He couldn’t imagine that Voldemort would let the boy live when he was the only one who could bring about his downfall.  And without him…

 

Without him, they might as well just surrender, so that as many people could be saved as possible.

 

Rufus hated feeling defeated, but at this point, there wasn’t much else for him to feel.  Victory felt like it was more and more out of his reach with every passing day.

 

He realized that the table had gone silent, that everyone was looking to him, and decided that the time had come to propose the only solution he had available to him.  Better to put the idea in their heads now, rather than to wait and spring it on them when the time finally came.  “I think we’re going to have to surrender.”

 

His words had the force of a Killing Curse behind them, and the room reacted exactly as he’d suspected.  There was anger, explosive and violent, and denial, and confusion, sometimes all at once from some people.

 

Once the room had quieted, Rufus continued with, “There’s nothing we can do to get him out of Hogwarts.  Not while he’s holed up there with all of his Death Eaters.  And while he’s there, you can bet that he’s doing everything he can to consolidate his forces.  We already couldn’t take a stand against him when he was operating from the shadows, moving more carefully.  What makes any of you think that we can fight him now that he’s moved into the open and is blatantly recruiting?”

 

Because he was recruiting.  Witches and Wizards were joining his cause, even if none of them could officially take the Dark Mark yet.  He heard them in the streets, talking about how maybe Voldemort had the right idea about Muggles and Muggleborns, and knew it was only a matter of time before their own people turned against them.

 

People were like sheep.  They would follow any strong leader, and Voldemort was turning out to be the stronger leader, a fact which broke Rufus’ heart.

 

“We can’t just roll over,” Thicknesse said from his seat.  He looked Rufus in the eye, his face grim.  “We can’t just roll over and say that we surrender.  That would be… it would be the way to get ensure that our people are broken.  If they see us surrender, they might never stand up for themselves again.  They might never try to take the world back from the Dark Lord.  Even if we don’t stand a chance of defeating him, we should still stand and fight.  So that our people see that resistance is possible, so that they know that, in time, they too can resist.”

 

Rufus felt something like hope blossom in his chest for the first time since the Dark Lord had taken Hogwarts.  It wasn’t a hope for their generation, true, but it was a hope for a future generation, who might look back and see them as heroes who inspire a rebellion.

 

It was a tough, grim little hope, but it was a hope, and that was more than he’d had before.  He nodded, and then they got down to the business of planning what this final stand might look like.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Much like after James and Lily had died, after Sirius had gone to prison and Remus had disappeared, the table felt empty.  This time, Moody didn’t think that it would ever fill again.

 

The war was taking them, one by one.  Molly and Arthur were still there, but they’d gone quiet and grim after the loss of their only daughter, and the betrayal of their youngest son.  The twins were there, but even they’d lost the joy that had once lit their lives.  Augusta had joined them, determined to get revenge on the Dark Lord who took her grandson from her.

 

But they’d lost more than they’d gained, that night when they’d gone desperately to Hogwarts to try and save the school.  It had been a disaster from the start.  They’d been in Diagon Alley, and had moved as soon as they’d received word from Albus that the school was the real target, but they hadn’t been fast enough.

 

They hadn’t really managed to save anyone, and the school had been taken in spite of the losses they’d sustained.

 

It had been a rout.

 

The war was winding down, and the time of the Order was coming to the end.  Moody had once thought that he might live to see an actual peace, a time when Voldemort was truly gone, but he was starting to realize that he would never see it.

 

If the world ever saw peace, it would be because Voldemort controlled all of it.  The thought was horrifying, but there it was.

 

“Our next fight will probably be our last,” he admitted, his voice grim and dark.  He got no surprise from the few remaining Order members.  They all knew that the end was coming, that it would probably take them all with it.

 

“So we make them pay for every inch,” one of the twins said.  “When the time comes.  We take out ten times as many of them as they do of us.”

 

“We do what we can, and what we can’t, we leave for generations after us,” the other twin said.

 

“If there are any,” Molly said, her voice bitter with loss.  “If they don’t decide that their best option is making a deal with that monster, so that they can live comfortably, so that they can see their sisters die—”

 

“Molly,” Arthur whispered, and pulled his wife close.  He hugged her, and she closed her eyes.

 

Moody ached for them both.  The betrayal of a child…  He’d never had any of his own, but he could imagine the pain that it would cause.

 

“We’ll make them bleed for it, when they finally do make their move,” Augusta said.  She thumped her umbrella against the floor, the sound sharp and staccato.  “If we’re going out, we do it with a bang.”

 

It was all they had left to do.

 

Moody had wanted to see peace in his lifetime, but he thought that dying to see it eventually might be a fairly decent second option.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five - Attraction

 

When Draco had woken up that morning, he had never expected to be granted the opportunity to watch the most flagrant display of manipulation he’d ever seen Harry engage in, and all for the sake of a handful of snakes.

 

“Please?”  Harry was practically pouting at the Dark Lord, and Draco felt as though it really wasn’t something he should be watching.  For one thing, Voldemort might remember he was there and hex him for seeing the way that he was clearly wanting to give in to Harry’s wishes.

 

“Harry,” Voldemort started, then shook his head.  There seemed to be genuine regret in the gesture.  “As much as I would love to indulge you in this, there’s no possible way that we can do it.  It just wouldn’t be safe.”

 

Harry let out a dramatic sigh and flung himself back in his chair, crossing his arms.  “But I’m bored,” he said, and now he definitely was pouting.

 

Draco couldn’t help the small snort that escaped him.  Harry was…  To say that he’d changed since coming out from under the ritual’s control was something of an understatement.  It was as though he’d had the majority of his emotional controls stripped from him, and when he stopped to think about it, Draco knew it was horrifying, but at the moment it was… rather endearing, actually.

 

He looked away when Harry sent a betrayed pout in his general direction.  “And I guess you think it’s too dangerous too, don’t you?”

 

Draco swallowed, suddenly even more uncomfortable than he had been.  “I didn’t say that,” he hedged.  “I just… don’t necessarily disagree that it’s a bad idea, that’s all.”  And then Harry’s face crumbled just a little, and Draco winced.  “I think it’s doable, though,” he said, so quickly that it was more of a squeak than a set of distinct words.

 

“Doable doesn’t make it a good idea,” Voldemort protested.  But it was said with the sound of growing defeat, like he knew he was about to lose the battle once and for all.  “Harry, I can’t go out in the Muggle world.  It’s just too dangerous.  And I don’t know that I’m at all comfortable with letting you go there without me.”

 

“I’m more than capable of navigating the Muggle world,” Harry said earnestly.  “And I really want to go and see the snakes at the zoo.  I want to free them.”

 

Where Harry had heard about the snake exhibit, Draco had no idea.  But once he’d gotten the idea into his head, there was no getting it out.  He’d been asking about it for almost a week, and while Draco wanted nothing more than to give him everything he’d ever wanted, he just didn’t know that it was practical to give him that.

 

For one thing, the number of Death Eaters who could successfully navigate the Muggle world was incredibly small.  For another, Draco was almost certain that the number of wizards who wanted Harry dead would increase exponentially as soon as people realized that he wasn’t a prisoner in Hogwarts.

 

“While I admire your goal,” Voldemort was saying, in the tone of someone who’d said it numerous times before, “It just isn’t practical.  Harry, we can’t go and free all the snakes.”

 

“I know that!  I just want to free some of them,” Harry said earnestly.  He sat up and stared at Voldemort, his green eyes going a little wet.

 

Draco didn’t know if he was faking or if the forming tears were real, but it practically didn’t matter.  It was… a very appealing look on Harry, as it happened, and Draco had to look away.  Voldemort, too, seemed affected by the expression, judging by the shuddery sigh that he let out.

 

“Okay,” the Dark Lord finally muttered.  “We can go rescue the snakes at the exhibit you’ve been talking about.”  Voldemort sounded begrudging, like he couldn’t imagine that he was actually saying what he was saying, and Draco couldn’t blame him.

 

But Draco thought it was probably worth it, giving up on the matter and giving Harry his way, because Harry brightened immediately, his face going practically incandescent in happiness.  It hurt Draco to see him that way, because he knew that he would never cause that expression to appear on Harry’s face.  It was clearly reserved for Voldemort, and Voldemort alone.

 

He let out a shuddering sigh and looked away, down at his hands.  “Guess I’d better get ready for a trip to the Muggle world, huh?” he asked, joking a little.  He assumed that he’d be drug along on this mad venture.

 

“Of course,” Harry chirped.  “Thanks for volunteering to come!  I know we’ll have fun with the snakes.”

 

“It really doesn’t count as volunteering if he knew I was going to make him suffer through this as well,” Voldemort said dryly.  “We’ll go tomorrow, Harry.  Don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

 

“I won’t!”

 

Draco already regretted that the agreement had been made, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  Besides, spending a few time amongst a people he didn’t particularly care for was a small price to pay to make Harry happy.

 

And anything that made Harry happy, he deserved.  Including, apparently, a relationship with Voldemort.  Even if, in the privacy of his own mind, he knew he would be so much of a better match for Harry.  He’d take such good care of him…

 

It didn’t matter.  He wasn’t what Harry wanted, and he needed to get used to that sooner, rather than later.  He was a friend, and nothing more, and he was okay with that.

 

He was determined to be.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort didn’t think that Draco saw the way that Harry looked at him when he wasn’t looking, and he knew that Harry didn’t see the way that Draco looked at him.  They were so oblivious, it was almost comical to watch.

 

But then, they were teenagers, and weren’t teenagers always a bit oblivious when it came to matters of the heart?

 

If Voldemort were a better person, a less selfish person, he would say something.  He would do something other than watching from behind the ridiculous ‘hoodie’ he had to wear to keep Muggles from seeing his face.  He would give them the push they so obviously needed to take the step that both of them wanted to take.

 

But he wasn’t a good person, and giving them that push would mean stepping aside.  Because Harry was so clearly too young for him, and it was the right thing to do, but Voldemort wasn’t known for being interested in the right thing to do.

 

But shouldn’t he want that for Harry’s sake?  Shouldn’t he want Harry to have the best possible relationship for him, even if that relationship wasn’t with him?

 

Voldemort sighed, drawing the attention of both of the teenagers in front of him.  Harry thought he was bored and asked, cheerfully, “Would you like to vanish the glass the next time?”

 

Truthfully, Voldemort wasn’t at all bored, because watching Harry sick snakes on unsuspecting Muggles was actually hilarious.  “I’m fine,” he said honestly.  He offered Harry what he hoped was a genuine smile.  “I’m glad that you’re having a good time.”

 

Harry shot him a suspicious look, but didn’t say anything else.  Voldemort still wasn’t that good at reading him, and couldn’t tell if he’d intended to say nothing more, or not.

 

Draco, however, knew.  “Harry,” he prompted gently.  He always knew when Harry meant to say something else.

 

Another sign that he was the right one for Harry, Voldemort supposed.  If he were the type to believe in signs and prophecies and that sort of thing.  Which he didn’t like to think he was, but then… well.  There’d been the whole prophecy that had led him to attack Harry in the first place, so maybe he was that kind of person.

 

Harry, meanwhile, started a bit.  “But are you having fun?” he asked Voldemort, like there’d been no break in the conversation.

 

Voldemort’s smile was a bit more genuine.  “Of course I am,” he said gently.  He reached out and gently ruffled Harry’s hair, then shoved his hands into his pockets once more.  “Go on, now.  I think there’s a cobra over there begging to be let loose next.”

 

Harry brightened immediately, and as Voldemort watched with an unfamiliar ache in his heart, he seized Draco’s hand and dragged him off in the direction of said cobra.  Draco followed, looking thunderstruck.

 

Voldemort massaged his forehead, trying to stave off the sudden headache he was getting.  He had to say something.  Harry wanted Draco, that much was clear.  And what Harry wanted, Harry deserved.  He wouldn’t allow his Harry to be hurt because of his selfishness.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco didn’t know what to expect when he was asked to meet Voldemort in his office while Harry went to sit in on one of Lupin’s defense classes, but he was sure that it couldn’t be good news.  He tapped on the door, trepidation making his hands shake, and wasn’t surprised to receive an immediate, curt command to enter.

 

He slid into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him, and dropped into an immediate kneel, his knees hitting the carpeted floor of what had once been the Headmaster’s office.  “My lord, you wished to see me?”

 

“I did,” Voldemort said coldly.  “Get off the ground, Malfoy, and come sit.  You and I need to have a very frank conversation, one that I doubt we can have if you’re bowing and scraping the entire time.”  He sounded mildly irritated, and frankly, that was terrifying.

 

The Dark Lord wasn’t known for his tolerance at the best of times, and when he was irritated was hardly the best of times.

 

Draco swallowed, stood, and got in the seat immediately.  “What can I do for you, my lord?” he asked carefully.  He didn’t want to further irritate the Dark Lord, and he didn’t know how best to do that.  His main goal, at that point, was avoiding finding himself under the Cruciatus Curse.

 

“I’d like to talk to you about Harry,” Voldemort said.  He set his quill down and leaned back in his chair, finally giving Draco his full attention.  The amount of focus was more than a little terrifying.  “In particular, I’d like to know why you haven’t acted on your attraction for him.”

 

Draco started to cough, choking on air.  He hadn’t been expecting…  “Sorry?” he managed to gasp out as he got himself under control.  Harry wanted him?  What in Merlin’s name was Voldemort talking about?

 

“You should be,” Voldemort snapped.  “He clearly wants you, and you clearly return his desires, so I don’t see why you should be torturing him by making him wait.”

 

Draco tried to get his breathing all the way under control, and only just managed it.  “My lord,” he started, his eyes wide.  “I didn’t…  I mean, I don’t…”  He stopped and took a deep breath, then let it out in a long, controlled exhale.  “I don’t know that I agree that Harry wants me,” he said carefully.  He didn’t look at Voldemort as he added, “It seems to me that there’s someone else that Harry is a bit enamored with, and I wouldn't want to step on any toes.”

 

It wasn’t like he could say to the Dark Lord’s face that he should be getting in a relationship with Harry, even though Draco was almost positive that Harry wanted him more than anything else.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Voldemort said blankly.

 

Draco almost wanted to throttle the man.  He suppressed the urge, however, because that would only have a very poor outcome.  “I just think that perhaps there might be someone more suited to Harry out there,” he said, as blandly as he could.  “Someone who might be ignoring Harry’s feelings for him out of a misguided sense of propriety?”

 

He couldn’t imagine any other reason why Voldemort would be refusing to act on Harry’s obvious desire for him.  The Dark Lord wasn’t known for his morality, but judging by the way he treated Harry, he would be the one person who could inspire some sort of misguided morality from the man.

 

Voldemort just stared at Draco, a flicker of anger entering his red eyes.  “I’m sure that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and this time there was a growl to his voice.

 

Draco immediately dropped his eyes once more.  “Of course, my lord,” he said quickly, smoothly.  “My sincerest apologies.”

 

“Accepted,” Voldemort said curtly.  “Now go.  And give Harry what he wants, because Harry deserves to get everything he wants, and that includes you.”

 

Draco was almost certain that he should protest to that, because he wasn’t a commodity to be given away, but decided that discretion was definitely the better part of valor.  He’d basically been given permission to pursue Harry romantically, and even though he was certain that Harry would eventually choose Voldemort over him, both because he wasn’t sure that Harry actually had any secret affection for him and because the two seemed to be meant to be together, he could at least have a few months, maybe even a year of his life.

 

He would make sure that it was the best year of Harry’s life, if that was all he was going to get.

 

He stood and dropped into a low bow.  “My lord, it would be an honor to give Harry exactly what he wants.”  Then he stood and left the room, and tried to ignore the fact that he heard something shatter against the door as he left.

 

It might be selfish of him, but he found himself hoping that Voldemort would hold onto those foolish feelings of morality for at least a little while longer.  Long enough that he could at least have a shot at cementing Harry’s affections before Voldemort took him away.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry left Remus’ class humming.  It had been a good few days.  He’d freed a number of snakes, and watched as they wreaked havoc on the people who thought of them as toys to play with and watch, and he’d had lots of fun in Defense class.  And he was getting a bit better about talking when he meant to talk!  He’d only messed up a handful of times in the past week, which was a good thing.

 

And Draco was always there to remind him.  Speaking of… where had Draco gone?

 

“Harry,” Draco said, appearing just as he rounded the corner.  The blonde seemed a bit out of breath, and there was a slight pinkness to his cheeks.

 

Had he been… with someone?  Harry fought down the jealousy that flared up at the idea.  Draco deserved to have romantic interests; he couldn’t stay with Harry forever.  “Hi,” he said, as brightly as he could manage.

 

He still wasn’t good at faking his emotions, judging by the look that Draco gave him.  “Can we talk?” Draco asked.

 

Harry winced.  He didn’t like the sound of that.  Conversations that were going to be good never began that way.  “I guess,” he muttered, a bit sadly.  Maybe Draco was going to say that he didn’t want to share a room with him anymore.  That he wanted his own place, where he could have a proper relationship, without having to worry about Harry.

 

Draco smiled at him, the expression gentle.  “It’s nothing bad,” he said.  He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and steered him in the direction of their room.  “I promise.”

 

They made it up to the room without Harry saying anything more, and then Harry was surprised when Draco settled them both on his bed.  Normally, Draco avoided joining him on the bed.  “What’s up?” Harry asked, his voice a little shaky.  Something seemed different; the atmosphere seemed almost charged.  He didn’t know what to do with that.

 

“The Dark Lord brought something to my attention today,” Draco said softly.  He hadn’t removed his arm from Harry’s shoulders, so the two were nestled close together.

 

It was nice.  Harry almost never wanted it to end.  “What did he say?” Harry asked, his voice a little shaky.

 

“He wanted to know why I hadn’t done anything about the way we feel about each other,” Draco said.  His voice grew lower, taking on a rougher note that made Harry shiver.  “Harry, are you attracted to me?”

 

Harry let out a small squeak, his cheeks flaming.  “I…”  He swallowed, and chanced a glance at Draco from the corner of his eyes.  He could feel Draco’s breath against his cheek, brushing it with every exhale.  “Yes,” he managed to squeak out.

 

“Good,” Draco murmured.  He tilted Harry’s head so that Harry had no choice but to look at him.  Draco was smiling, the expression softening his face.  “I’m very much attracted to you as well.  And I would love the chance to have a relationship with you.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened, and he knew that his smile had to be blinding.  He had no mask left to cover his feelings, and he wasn’t particularly interested in trying at that moment, anyway.  “Oh,” he breathed.  He leaned forward, hesitantly, and brushed a quick kiss over Draco’s cheek.  It was nice.

 

He thought about kissing Draco on the lips, but the one time he’d tried it with Cho, well, that had gone very badly.  And Harry didn’t want to make Draco cry.

 

But then Draco leaned in, holding his chin in place, and pressed his lips to Harry’s.  It was a soft, gentle kiss that lingered, and it wasn’t too wet and Draco didn’t burst into tears.  When he pulled back, he was smiling.

 

Harry smiled back, the expression a little helpless.  “That was nice,” he said shyly.

 

Draco let out a soft, breathy little laugh.  It wasn’t mean, it was almost gentle, and Harry couldn't help but laugh a little as well.  “Do you want to do it again?” Draco asked.

 

Harry nodded, still a little shy.  “Very much so,” he said.

 

Draco kissed him again, and Harry felt like he’d never been happier in his life, and like he never would be so happy again.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six - Courting Etiquette

 

Ron had done as Draco had suggested and had looked up courting etiquette.  He’d immediately regretted it, because he couldn't unread what he’d read.  Daphne was looking for him to court her, according to all of the books.

 

And Ron looked through several, because he couldn’t believe the answer that one book gave him.

 

What could she possibly want with him, of all people?  He wasn’t any kind catch by any stretch of imagination, and for someone like Daphne to be encouraging him to court her…  There had to be something more that she wanted; Ron just didn’t know what it was.

 

He didn’t particularly want to find out, either.  He didn’t want to know how she planned on using him, so he found himself ignoring her.  And, well, everyone else.  It was hard to go and be around the other students of his age when he was busy wondering which of them was going to try to use him next.  Because that had to be what Daphne was doing.  She couldn’t possibly be actually interested in him.

 

He had no status, no money, no power.  He was the last thing any proper Slytherin would want.

 

Ron groaned and buried his face in his pillow.  She’d approached him after two days of ignoring her, and Ron had been hard-pressed to continue ignoring her.  He’d wanted to say something, to ask her why she would try to use him like that, but he couldn’t manage it.  He’d left, fleeing back to his bedroom.

 

He wasn’t expecting the pillow that hit him in the back of his head.  Ron sat up, indignant, only to find himself face to face with a miniature version of Daphne.  Well, not that miniature, given that her little sister was only a year younger than her.

 

“Astoria,” he choked out, his cheeks heating.

 

“Weasel,” she shot back.  There were two bright spots of color on her fair cheeks, and her lips were twisted into a scowl.  “You’re breaking my sister’s heart.  Why would you do that?”

 

Ron opened his mouth to object, to say that she’d broken his heart, because there was no way that she could possibly want him, but he closed it.  He wasn’t going to get into an argument with a little kid.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Another pillow hit him in the face, this one harder than the first.  He thought maybe she might have put a rock in it, because something sharp definitely struck his cheek.  While he rubbed at it, she snarled, “My sister, for some strange reason, actually likes you, you asshole!  And you’re… ignoring her, and she doesn’t know why, and I’m here to tell you that you’d better knock it off, Weasel!”

 

Did Daphne really want him like that?  If so, if he’d ignored her…  well, she wouldn’t want him for long, would she?  “I’m not interested,” Ron said hoarsely, lying through his teeth.  It wasn’t like he could actually afford to court her properly, anyway.

 

Besides, someone like Daphne was probably too good for him.

 

A third pillow hit him in the face, and this one was soft once more.  “You’re lying to me,” Astoria ground out.  “I don’t know why, Weasel, but I’m going to figure it out.  And you’re going to make my sister happy again, or I’m going to make you regret everything under the sun.”

 

Then, before he could even begin to decide whether he wanted to respond to that or not, she turned on her heel and marched out of Ron’s room.

 

Ron flopped back down on his bed and smothered himself with the third pillow.  He hated pureblood etiquette, he hated the idea of courting, and most of all, he hated that he wouldn’t be able to do it even if he wanted to.

 

But he didn’t want to, he told himself.  It was just that he would have hated the idea of it if he’d wanted to do it.  Which he didn’t.

 

He ignored the small voice inside his head that called him a liar.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry was incandescent in class, a feeling that Remus didn’t often get to see from his honorary godson.  He wondered at the cause, and found that his heart almost stopped when he thought about potential reasons.  Because there was one that he didn’t want to think about.

 

Voldemort was far too old for Harry, no matter Harry’s inappropriate interest in him.

 

Harry might think he was concealing it, but Remus knew the young man too well, and Harry had no filter left.  The adoring looks he shot the Dark Lord when Voldemort wasn’t looking…

 

Remus swallowed, and when he ended class, he asked Harry if there was a chance he might stay back and talk for a bit.  Harry was more than happy to do so, and came to lean against Remus’ desk.  Draco was going to stay as well, something that Remus wouldn’t have minded, but Harry waved him off with an irritated noise.

 

“He could have stayed,” Remus said mildly once the door had closed behind Draco.  Not that he was objecting to the fact that Harry apparently trusted him enough to be alone with him.  It gave him a warm feeling, to know that Harry wanted to speak with him alone…

 

“I needed to ask you something, and Draco can’t hear it,” Harry explained.  He shifted so that he was perched on Remus’ desk, his legs kicking idly back and forth.  “Because it’s about maybe getting a present for him, and I didn’t want to spoil anything.”

 

Remus settled in his chair and observed Harry.  He certainly seemed carefree enough, but Remus could recognize the slightest signs of tension that was beginning to form.  “Why are you getting Draco a present?” he asked.

 

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap, his cheeks heating.  “I wanted to get him something because we just… you know.”

 

Remus’ eyes widened.  ‘You know’ could mean a number of things, and many of them were likely things that Harry wasn’t ready for.  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said, doing his best to keep a growl out of his voice.  If Draco had done anything inappropriate to Harry…

 

Well, Remus would probably wind up dead, because he’d definitely go after the young Malfoy.

 

“He kissed me,” Harry blurted out.  His voice was louder than need be, and higher pitched than normal.  It was clear that he was embarrassed.  “And I really liked it, and I think we’re dating, and I wanted to give him something, because isn’t gift giving a thing in the wizarding world?”

 

“It is,” Remus said carefully, relaxing a bit.  Kissing.  Harry was more than ready for kissing, and at least it wasn’t Voldemort.  “But gift giving can also serve as a prelude to courtship, which I don’t know that you’re ready for just yet.”

 

Harry scowled at him.  “Courtship?” he echoed, obviously confused.

 

“It’s when you provide gifts to your intended partner,” Remus said slowly.  “Typically jewelry to start, then other things.  I’m sure there are books about it in the Hogwarts library that you could investigate.  If you want to give Draco something, you’ll want to be careful not to give him something that could be misconstrued as that sort of gift.”

 

Harry let out a small sigh and hopped off of his desk.  “Thanks for helping, Remus,” he said, a bit distractedly.  He gave Remus a quick hug, not seeming to realize he was doing it, then wandered towards the door.

 

Before he could leave, Remus called after him, “I’m happy for the two of you!”

 

Harry turned and offered him a beaming smile, then slipped out of the room.

 

Remus collapsed at his desk and rested his head on his forearms.  Harry was dating someone.  Merlin’s pants.  In no way was he ready for that.  And a Malfoy?  At least, of all the available options, Malfoy was the one most likely to not be making Sirius, Lily, and James roll over in their graves.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

It was while Harry was speaking with Remus after class that Astoria approached Draco, all damp eyes and pretty pouts.  “Got a minute?” she asked, her lips pursed.

 

It was probably supposed to be attractive, and had Draco had the slightest interest in women, it might have been.  “Astoria,” he started, gently, because he was going to have to be careful when it came to letting her down.  “You should know—”

 

Immediately, before he could even finish his sentence, her entire demeanor changed.  She stood up a little straighter, her expression shifted into something more neutral, and she blinked away the tears as though they’d never been.  “Not interested, right,” she muttered.  She looked him over, her expression assessing.  “Gay, are you?”

 

Draco sputtered, his cheeks flaming.  “Did you want something?” he finally managed to ground out, the heat not fading from his cheeks.

 

“Of course I did,” she shot back.  “Otherwise I wouldn’t have tried to flirt with you.  Merlin, boys are so dense,” she muttered, as though Draco couldn’t hear her.

 

Which he could.  “I can hear you,” he growled.

 

“And the fact remains, boys are dense,” she responded with a sunny smile.  “Like the boy dear Daphne is currently having trouble with.  Ron Weasley?  I thought that, since you and Harry know him so well, you might tell him to get off his lazy arse and court my sister properly before she really does waste away of a broken heart.”

 

Draco stared at her, his mouth gaping open unattractively.  Before he could even think to respond, Harry fairly danced out of Lupin’s office and latched onto his hand.  Then he glanced back and forth between Draco and Astoria, frowning a little.  “Are you okay?” he asked Draco.  “You look confused.”

 

“Repeat what you just said about Weasley to Harry, please,” Draco managed to get out, his voice strangled.  This was so very much not his problem.  He’d told Weasley to look up courtship etiquette, and apparently he’d done so, and wasn’t following through.  He didn’t know Ron well enough to know why that might be.

 

“He won’t court my sister,” Astoria repeated obediently.  And then she added, “And it isn’t that he doesn’t want to, because if he didn’t, he would just say as much, wouldn’t he?  Boys can’t possibly be  _ that  _ dense.  So that means he wants to, and he won’t say for some reason.”

 

Harry just stared back at her.  “Because he doesn’t have the money,” he said blankly, like it should be obvious to all of them.

 

It hadn’t been obvious to Draco, but now that he’d said it… “Of course,” he said with a groan.  “Because the Weasleys never did have much money, and now he doesn’t even have what little he used to.  He has nothing with which to court her.”  He scrubbed at his forehead.  That was… a problem, and one that he didn’t know how to fix.

 

Harry, apparently, did know what to do.  “Don’t worry about it,” he chirped to Astoria.  “Draco and I will get it sorted.”

 

Draco didn’t know how he was going to do that, because he knew that Weasley would never accept charity from him, but nodded agreeably anyway.  Then let himself be towed away, because he didn’t particularly want to stay and chat with Astoria anyway.

 

Once they were well out of earshot, he asked, “How do you think we’re going to fix this?”  Because he had no idea.

 

Harry beamed at him.  “We’re going to get Ron some money,” he answered, like it was obvious.

 

“Weasley won’t take it from either of us,” Draco pointed out, just in case Harry had forgotten.  He knew that he wasn’t stupid, but sometimes he didn’t seem to remember some basic things, like the fact that Ron was very proud.

 

“He won’t have to,” Harry almost sang.

 

He was leading them to Voldemort’s office, Draco realized.  “Harry,” he started, his voice shaking a little.  He tugged on his hand and went still, forcing Harry to stop.  “What are you doing?”   
  


“Ron saved my life,” Harry said, his voice going very soft.  “He saved my life at the expense of everything he’s ever known, and his only reward has been to be locked away in Gryffindor Tower for a while, and now to be stuck with people he doesn’t know well.  And the one friend he made, it turns out that she wants something from him that he can’t afford to give.”

 

“Yes,” Draco said patiently.  He folded Harry’s hand in both of his and rubbed it gently.  “I get all of that.  And I know that you want to help him, and I’m even in agreement with that want.  But what I’m not at all sure of is why we’re going to the Dark Lord’s office.”

 

“Because Voldemort is going to give Ron a monetary reward for saving my life, of course,” Harry said.  He beamed at Draco, then used his hand to tow Draco along once more.

 

Draco followed, not sure if Harry was mad, a genius, or both, but willing to go along with it.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Ron didn’t know what to expect when he was summoned before the Dark Lord only a day after his conversation with Astoria.  At first, for one mad moment, he thought that Astoria had gone to him with her complaint and he was about to be tortured for failing to court a pureblood lady.  It made about as much sense as any other theory that Ron could come up with.

 

So Ron did the sensible thing and stopped theorizing.

 

At least until he was standing before the Dark Lord, alone in his office, with He Who Must Not Be Named glaring at him through baleful red eyes.  “I’m sorry,” Ron squeaked out, hoping that he wasn’t about to die for an offense he didn’t even know for sure that he’d committed.

 

“You should be,” the Dark Lord snarled.  He tapped his fingers on his desk, then glanced down at piece of parchment.  “It’s your fault that Harry was in here pouting at me earlier, and I have to tell you, Mr. Weasley, I don’t particularly care for it when Harry pouts at me.”

 

Ron opened his mouth to protest, to say that he hadn’t seen Harry in a few days, at least, but closed it with a snap.  That didn’t seem like it would be a good thing to say, given the way that Voldemort was glowering at him.  “I’m sorry?” he said, the words coming out as more of a question than a statement.

 

The Dark Lord let out a wordless noise of disgust and handed him a scrap of parchment.  There were three things written on it: two very large numbers and the name of a goblin, Grimtooth.  Ron looked back up at the Dark Lord, confused.

 

“You saved Harry’s life, he reminded me, and such things are to be encouraged,”  the Dark Lord spoke as though he were bored with the conversation, but his eyes were still sharp and intent on Ron’s own.  “In your case, because your actions caused you to lose everything you have except for what is here at Hogwarts with you, there should be some financial compensation.  The goblin is your account manager, the first number your account balance, the second your account number.”

 

Ron sputtered incoherently, staring down at the two numbers in question.  “I didn’t… I don’t…” He stopped and took a deep breath.  “I didn’t do it for the money,” he managed to choke out.  It was more than he’d ever seen in his life.  He didn’t even think he’d be able to spend it all if he tried!

 

“I know,” the Dark Lord said.  He looked away, finally, and Ron felt something slip from his mind, something he hadn’t noticed was there until it was gone.  “And yet, now you have the money.  Do something worthwhile with it, won’t you?”

 

When Ron opened his mouth to protest once more, the Dark Lord waved him out, irritation flashing over his face.  Ron left in a daze, not entirely sure of what had just happened.  Why would Harry…

 

It didn’t matter, he supposed.  And… even if it didn’t make sense, him being given all that money for what seemed like no reason, there was at least one good thing to come out of it.  He could buy Daphne a courting gift, and hope that she was still interested in him in spite of his earlier poor behavior.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Three days later, two after he’d selected the gift and one after it had arrived, Ron was startled and pleased to see that Daphne wore the bracelet he’d purchased for her down to breakfast that morning.  It was a good sign, or so all the books said.

 

A slightly less good sign, however, was the note he received from Astoria, which simply read  _ Mess up again and I’ll murder you, Weasel _ .

 

Ron really, really didn’t like her, and was unashamed to admit that he was terrified of her.  Hopefully, if things between him and Daphne progressed beyond the initial stages of courtship, she would handle her little sister.  Ron didn’t think he could, to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up, I've run out of chapters stored for this fic, so there might not be an update the next two weeks. We'll see if I can manage to write something.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Trouble with Teaching

 

“I’m cancelling classes for the day,” Severus said quietly over breakfast.

 

Remus looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise.  They stood out against the dark shadows beneath them.  “Why?” he asked, his voice dull.  It was like he lacked all energy to even be curious, and Severus hated seeing him like that.

 

“Because you’re exhausted,” Severus said.  He reached out and carefully touched Remus’ cheek.  It was thinner than it should be.  He wasn’t surprised.  They’d both dropped weight.  Teaching as many classes as they were was immensely draining, and enormously stress-inducing.  “And I am too.  And it’s a full moon tonight.”

 

Remus blinked at him, the motion slow.  “Is it that time already?” he asked.  He raised his cup of tea to his lips, his hand shaking.

 

Severus blanched.  If Remus really didn’t realize that it was a full moon… it wasn’t the kind of thing he normally lost track of.  The last time that he could remember it happening had been when Sirius had been breaking into the school, at the Shrieking Shack.  “Remus,” he started.

 

Remus seemed to sense his concern, because he smiled brightly at Severus.  “I’m okay,” he said quickly.  The expression faded quickly, though, as soon as Remus stopped paying attention to it.

 

He was very much not okay, and Severus wasn’t sure what he could do to help.  If anything, to be honest, because there was a good chance that there was nothing to do.  It wasn’t like finding more teachers was important to Voldemort.  Maybe if Harry asked about it…

 

But Severus couldn’t see it even occurring to Harry as things stood now.  The boy was walking the line somewhere between sane and not, and he didn’t know that it would even occur to him to ask.

 

“If we’re not having classes today, I think I’m going to go lie back down,” Remus said suddenly.  He pushed away from the table, his food no more than half-eaten, and stood.  Every motion was slow, like he was in a great deal of pain.

 

Maybe he was.  Severus knew the transformations weren’t easy on him.

 

He tried on a smile and found that it didn’t stretch his face out too much.  “Let me send a message to our students that we won’t be having classes, and then I’ll join you.”

 

Remus glanced back at him with a tired, but genuinely cheerful expression, then continued on his way back to the bedroom.  They hadn’t quite moved in together, but they’d spent more nights passed out in exhaustion beside each other than they hadn’t since they’d gotten together.

 

Severus didn’t often want to cuddle, but he could see the appeal in spending the day that way with as tired as he was, and as tired as Remus was.  He summoned a house elf, then asked that all students be informed about the cancellation of classes.  Once the elf departed, Severus followed Remus back to the bedroom and crawled into bed with him.

 

Hopefully, they would feel well enough to make it through the next few days…

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The day passed in what might have been the most glorious celebration of laziness that Remus had ever experienced.  Severus let him snuggle up against him for most of the day, and Remus only got up to use the bathroom or when his head hurt from laying down for too long.

 

It was a wonderful, peaceful way to spend the day before the full moon.  Unfortunately, Remus knew what was coming, and he was deeply concerned on Severus’ behalf.  Because he knew Severus well enough to know that he wasn’t going to cancel classes again, not even some of them, which would leave him teaching everything while Remus was in the hospital wing recovering.

 

And he couldn't fool himself.  He knew he was going to wind up there again.  He was too tired not to collapse after transforming.  That was even assuming that he made it through the transformation okay.

 

Teaching was wonderful, and he loved it, but he was deeply concerned that it was going to be the death of him.  He supposed that they could reduce the number of classes that they were teaching, but he honestly wasn’t sure how.

 

The students needed to be taught.  Still, it seemed ridiculous to let something like this drive himself and Severus this far into exhaustion.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Severus murmured.  A hand stroked idly along Remus’ spine.

 

Remus shivered and shifted closer.  “Classes,” he said honestly.  He let his eyes fall closed, only for them to fly open at the slight stirring in his blood.  It should be so much more powerful than it was… As it was, he almost didn’t recognize it for what it was: the signal that moonrise was coming, and was coming fast.  “I have to go,” he said tiredly.

 

“Go, then,” Severus said.  He didn’t push Remus away as he might have once done, but instead leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back and closing his eyes.

 

Remus sighed and stood, feeling far more old than he had any right to feel.  He hated being a werewolf most of the time, and at this particular moment, he hated it more than normal.  He left the bedroom, then headed out to meet the pack, even though he knew that there was no way he’d be running with them tonight.

 

When he expressed as much to Fenrir, the only response he got was a low, disgusted growl, and then the alpha turned away and stalked off.

 

Remus honestly didn’t remember what happened for the rest of the night.  His transformation was more painful than normal, but other than that, he had no recollection of how the night had gone.  He woke up in the hospital wing, with Fenrir looming over him.

 

“You need to fix this,” the alpha growled at him.  His voice was dark and dangerous, but Remus didn’t think he was imagining the concern in his voice.

 

“I know,” Remus said tiredly, a little bit exasperated.  He knew.  The situation was untenable.  It was only going to get worse, and they had to do something.  He knew.  He just didn’t know what to do.  And maybe if…  “If you have a solution in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

 

Fenrir growled at him, the sound low and reverberating.  His hand shot out and he grabbed Remus by the throat, his eyes narrowing.  “Listen to me, Lupin.  I am your alpha, you don’t talk to me like that.  And my solution would be to turn all of them so that they don’t need to learn to use a wand.  If you don’t fix this, maybe I’ll do just that.”

 

Then he was gone before Remus could respond, and Remus didn’t even know how he would have responded, anyway, so maybe that was a good thing.

 

He might have gotten himself killed by mouthing off to him.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry hummed quietly to himself as he concentrated on the spell he was supposed to be practicing.  It wasn’t quite working, and that was frustrating, but it would be fantastic if he could get it to work.

 

“Mr. Potter!” Severus snapped, drawing him from his concentration.  He’d almost forgotten that Severus was teaching the class instead of Remus because of the full moon.  “The point of silent casting is that it is intended to be  _ silent _ .  Humming is the opposite of silent.”

 

Harry felt his face stretching into a smile entirely without his consent, but that was okay.  “I would think that shrieking would be the opposite of silent,” he said, and then winced.  He hadn’t quite meant to say that out loud, but at least he’d realized that he’d done so.

 

Once upon a time, being so flippant with Severus would get him in a lot of trouble.  As it was, it probably wasn’t his safest bet.  Still, he couldn’t resist letting his smile spread.

 

“Brat,” Severus muttered.  He didn’t say anything more, though, and unless Harry was very mistaken, he thought that maybe he looked a little bit paler than he had before.

 

He opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but before he could, Severus had stood up and was swaying, like he was the Whomping Willow.  And then, as Harry watched, all the color drained from him and he collapsed, his head landing on the ground with a sickening crack.

 

Students around him didn’t panic, and Harry was glad that it happened in front of an older class if it was going to happen at all.  “Draco, do you want to go get your mother?” he asked.  He got up and crossed the room to kneel in front of the Professor.  He was still breathing, and that was a good thing.

 

“Yes, of course.”  Draco stepped back and Harry heard the sound of the door closing a few moments later.

 

“Should we try to move him into a more comfortable position?” Daphne asked.  She was kneeling on his other side, studying him.

 

Harry shook his head.  “We could do more damage than not,” he responded.  He knew a little bit about medical care, given how many times he’d been injured in the past.

 

The room went silent as they waited for Narcissa, and Harry used the time to study the Professor.  Had his robes always hung off of him like that?  He looked like Harry had looked when he’d just gotten away from the Dursleys, gaunt and exhausted.  Harry couldn't be sure, but he didn’t think it was good for Severus to look like that.

 

Narcissa arrived while he mulled that over and dismissed the class.  He walked with Draco, quietly, back to their rooms.  “Do you think that the Professor looked very tired to you?” he asked once they were alone.

 

Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, and Harry went with a small, happy sigh.  He liked being held like that.  “I think that both he and Professor Lupin are exhausted,” Draco said quietly.  “Lupin looked just as bad, if not worse, when I saw him in the hospital wing.  I don’t think this full moon agreed with him.”

 

Harry sighed.  “It’s a shame that we can’t get anymore teachers in here,” he said.  And then he brightened, his eyes widening.  “But you and I could teach!”

 

Draco seemed rather alarmed at the idea.  “What do you mean that we could teach?” he asked warily.  “I might be good at potions, but I’m certainly not as good as Severus.”

 

“Okay, so you can’t teach the upper levels,” Harry said with an impatient shake of his head.  “But you don’t have to.  Severus can still do that.  But you could teach through fifth year, couldn’t you?”

 

Draco hesitated.  “Potions, or something else?” he asked finally.

 

Harry scowled at him.  “Potions,” he bit out.  “And I could teach Defense, probably for all years but they would probably prefer it if I just stuck to younger students, right?  And then there might be other students with specialties who would be okay to teach at least a few years of a subject, right?”

 

Draco closed his eyes for a long moment, his brow furrowed.  Then, slowly, like he was still considering what Harry was saying, he said, “Daphne knows her history, and was always better than Binns with it.  And Blaise is no slouch at Transfiguration.  Nor is Pansy terrible with Charms.  We… could do something like that.  It might work.”

 

Harry beamed at him, then leaned up and kissed him quickly on the lips.  He pulled back, blushing, and stood up.  “We should go talk to them, and if they agree, we should talk to Voldemort,” he chirped, before he could change his mind.

 

Draco blanched.  “We really don’t have to do that,” he protested.  But he was standing even as he said it, so Harry didn’t mind the protest.

 

“We do,” he said cheerfully.  “We can fix this problem for Severus and Remus, and so we should.  Because I don’t like the idea of them being miserable.”

 

Draco heaved a heavy, long-suffering sigh.  “Fine,” he muttered, like he didn’t actually care.  But Harry didn’t miss the pleased glint in his eye, and knew that Draco was probably happy to be able to help his favorite teacher.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort wasn’t entirely sure what he was hearing at first.  “You want to teach,” he repeated, and set down his quill.  There was a group of several students in front of him, most of whom he didn’t particularly care much about one way or another, but the group was led by Harry, whom he cared for very much.

 

Harry, who was beaming at him and nodding enthusiastically.  “Yes,” he said.  “We want to teach, to help Remus and Severus out.  We’re all good enough with our chosen subjects that we could at least teach the third years and below, but some of us could go higher than that if need be.”

 

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, considering the group before him.  It was an interesting solution, to say the least.  “That… is certainly an option I hadn’t considered,” he said slowly.  It would be a long time before they could hire any other teachers, given the situation outside of the castle, but this… this would be a neat solution to a problem that had been brewing for quite some time.

 

He’d been very much aware that Severus and Remus were working at a level that could not be sustained, and he was tired of having Greyback snapping at him over overworking one of his betas.  And Severus collapsing in the middle of class… Voldemort supposed he should just be grateful that it wasn’t a potions class, and that nothing had exploded.  It could have been an absolute disaster.

 

But, at the same time, he didn’t want to overwork the students, either.  And it seemed like this, while a good option, could easily lead to that.  “Three classes each,” he said slowly, studying the six students before him.  “Three years, I mean.  You each are in charge of instructing three years in your chosen subject, and only if Severus and Remus agree that you’ve mastered each subject enough to do so.”

 

Harry beamed at him, and Voldemort ignored the flutter of warmth the expression caused. Instead, he scowled and looked away.  “Now get out of my office, all of you.  Remus and Severus will let you know what happens from here.”

 

Once his office was emptied of children, Voldemort closed his eyes and let himself relax.  This was a good solution, actually, depending on what Remus and Severus said.  And he couldn’t imagine that the two of them were going to say no.

 

He couldn’t imagine that they were going to get a choice, to be honest.  Severus was too valuable to him as a Potions Master to lose teaching students who would never share half his promise.  And Greyback might just revolt if Remus grew any more frail than he already was.

 

So yes, this solution would work, and they would accept it.  Or he would be very, very angry.  And Remus and Severus both already knew the damage he could do when he was angry.  Perhaps it would be best to not present it as a choice they could make at all, but rather as a done deal, provided each of the students passed whatever tests Remus and Severus could think of for them…

 

Yes, that was what he was going to do.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

A week after Harry’s proposal, a week which had been filled with testing each of the students to make sure that they could actually handle the younger years, Severus found himself studying the newspaper in front of him.  It held little relevant information, but that didn’t matter.  What mattered was that he had time to study said information, since he had no classes to teach that day.  And wasn’t that a wonderful thing?

 

He couldn’t remember the last day off he’d had.

 

“Morning,” Remus murmured, his voice a husky growl.

 

Severus jumped, and deliberately did not look in the wolf’s direction as his cheeks flared with heat.  They’d spent the night together the night before, as they’d become accustomed to, but they definitely hadn’t been too tired to do anything other than sleep, and Remus had… had introduced him to a number of things he hadn’t been expecting.

 

“You okay?”  Now there was a hint of concern in Remus’ voice and he crossed the room.  Severus didn’t jump when his hands landed on his shoulders and rubbed gently.

 

“I’m okay,” Severus said, a bit shakily.  He looked up, still embarrassed, and offered Remus a shy, but genuine, smile.  “More than, really.  Last night was wonderful.”

 

Remus smiled down at him.  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”  He leaned down for a kiss, and Severus eagerly obliged.

 

Their lips tangled together, and then Remus slid into his lap, displacing the newspaper.  Severus set it aside without complaint.  He would have plenty of time to read it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.  So, here’s an update.  But here’s the thing.  This semester has been hell for me, and I don’t think I can maintain an update schedule for the duration.  So, I’m not saying no updates until mid-December, but I am saying that they will not be every week, and maybe not even every other week.  I’ll post as often as I can.  Please don’t harass me about new chapters.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight - Clever Girl

 

“How are you enjoying teaching?” Voldemort asked over a quiet lunch in the suite the three of them shared.

Harry blinked at him. He liked it. He always had. He hadn’t liked being pushed into it during his fifth year, but even then, he’d found that he enjoyed it. There was something incredibly satisfying about helping other people find knowledge, especially when what they were learning had the potential to save their lives one day. What wasn’t to like about it?

“Harry,” Draco prompted gently.

Harry sighed. He hadn’t said it out loud, of course. Narcissa kept promising him that he would get better at it, but for now, it remained incredibly frustrating. “I like it,” he said quietly, and smiled when Draco’s hand landed on his own and squeezed gently. “Teaching is fun. I like helping people learn new things. And I like helping to alleviate some of the burden that the professors were bearing. They seem much happier now that they have time to actually rest occasionally.”

“They do,” Voldemort acknowledged with a nod of his head. “But Harry, I do have to admit that I’m a bit concerned myself. You don’t seem to be all that happy these days.”

Harry let out a small, huffing breath. “I’m happy,” he said. He looked down at the sandwich on his plate. He was happy, he supposed. He was happy with Draco, even if he felt greedy for still wanting… with Voldemort. Not that he would ever ask, or anything like that, but…

And he _was_ happy teaching, and talking to Narcissa, and improving after being imprisoned within his own body for so long. He really, really was.

But he wasn’t happy because Hermione was still imprisoned in the dungeons. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she deserved to be there, because he could definitely understand why Voldemort was keeping her down there. It was just that he still wanted… a part of him wondered… Ron had apologized, had betrayed Dumbledore for him, and Hermione… hadn’t.

Not that he thought she would ever talk to him about it, of course. Still…

It wasn’t that hard to sneak out of the suite without Draco or Voldemort catching on after their meal had ended, and no Death Eater would be stupid enough to question him. They all kept very quiet when around him. Harry imagined it was because they didn’t want to slip up and say something awful to him now that he was on Voldemort’s good side. That was okay, he didn’t mind that they didn’t talk to him.

In fact, he preferred it. He couldn’t imagine trying to make nice with Bellatrix after she’d murdered his godfather, no matter how accidental that murder had been. If it had been. He had to admit, almost a whole year after Sirius’ death, the events of that night were a little bit blurry to him.

The guard on the dungeon didn’t attempt to stop him, didn’t even express surprise to see him there. He just wordlessly waved Harry through, then went back to flipping through whatever magazine he was reading. It looked like something Quidditch related, although Harry couldn’t be sure and honestly didn’t care enough to check.

Hermione’s cell was easy enough to find. It was the only occupied one at this point. She was sitting in the center of it, her eyes dull and exhausted, looking skinnier than Harry had ever seen her. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes hanging off of her thin frame. She barely glanced at Harry when he came into view.

“You know that I could get you out of there,” Harry whispered. He walked right up to the cell bars, not at all afraid that she could hurt him. She was stuck in there, after all. He wasn’t.

Hermione didn’t say anything, just stared at him through those dull eyes.

“I would, too,” he whispered. “If only for the friendship that we once shared. But I don’t know that I could trust you if I did get Voldemort to let you out of there. I think you would betray him as soon as you could.”

Hermione still said nothing, but her lips twitched ever so slightly.

Harry knew that he was right. She couldn’t be released. She was too intelligent, too dangerous. Though he didn’t really know what was going on with the war, because Voldemort kept him mostly shielded from that side of things, he knew that she could do a lot of damage to the Death Eaters, and to Voldemort’s cause. Harry mostly didn’t care about that, aside from the fact that he cared about how Voldemort would probably be upset if he lost the war, if he even survived it. Which he probably wouldn’t.

Which he supposed meant that he did care about how the war went.

He sighed. “Could you at least tell me why you believed so strongly in what Dumbledore said?” he asked, his voice coming out more plaintively than he would have liked to admit. “Because I… I trusted you, you know, and the fact that you were just reporting on me to Dumbledore the entire time…”

Still, she said nothing.

Harry realized that it wasn’t going to change. That she would continue to say nothing, although he couldn’t imagine what she was getting from it. He sighed again, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

He made his way back to the suite, where he found Draco pacing as Voldemort yelled at him. Harry didn’t know what Voldemort was yelling about, probably about the fact that Harry had snuck away again, and he didn’t really care. He just went straight to Draco, grabbed him by the hand, and tugged him upstairs to their bedroom.

“Harry,” Draco started, exasperation sharp in his voice. “You can’t just wander off like that!” Even as he scolded Harry, which Harry mostly ignored, he let himself be maneuvered so that Harry could cuddle up to him on Draco’s bed, which they weren’t quite sharing yet, because it was far too soon, but had spent time in together.

“I wanted to talk to Hermione,” Harry said tiredly. He closed his eyes and curled up against Draco, and relaxed ever so slightly when Draco’s arms curled around him.

“Didn’t go so well?” Draco asked, all the anger and exasperation draining from his voice.

Harry shook his head, and Draco sighed. The room fell silent, and Harry tried to put Hermione out of his mind. He could have said something to Voldemort to get her out of that cell, at least, he thought he could, but only if she’d actually been sorry for the things she’d said and done to him. Only if she’d made oaths to never stand against Voldemort, probably.

And she would never do either thing, which meant that there was nothing he could do for her. As vengeful as he’d been, that thought still hurt.

ooOOooOOoo

Hermione waited until she heard the door to the dungeons clank closed behind Harry, then breathed out a small sigh of relief. He was gone. That idiot boy had almost ruined everything, coming by to gloat or whatever it was he’d been doing, but he was gone now, and she could return to her ritual.

Voldemort never should have left that awful quill in the room with her. He’d probably expected her to ignore it once she’d realized what it was, but she wasn’t so foolish. She didn’t discard terrible things when they might potentially be useful.

She stripped off her shirt, revealing dozens of runes, still sore and bloody, that she’d drawn on herself with the help of the sharp point of the quill. She only had a handful more to go, and then she would be free of this cage.

She’d always been a curious girl, had always wondered about ways to subvert Hogwarts’ defenses against Apparition. And Dumbledore, brilliant man that he’d been, had always been more than happy to indulge her curiosity. He’d seen her brilliance and had appreciated that in her, and for that, Hermione would have been loyal to him until the day she died.

Would be loyal to him, actually, or at least to his vision. She would get out of this damned cage with the help of the ritual Dumbledore had revealed to her when she’d been just fourteen years old, asking questions without having a concrete reason for needing the answers. She would get out, she would get help, and she and the remnants of the Order would raze Voldemort’s army to the ground.

It was just a matter of carving the final few runes onto her skin. And it hurt, Merlin knew it did, but Hermione had endured worse at the tip of Voldemort’s wand, with less of a reward waiting for her. She could do this.

Her magic swelled within her, and even without a wand to channel it through, she felt it leaving her. The runes she’d carved into herself began to glow as she carved in the final one, the one just over her pulse point on her right wrist. And then, once that was carved and glowing brightly, she performed the final step in the ritual and drove the quill right into the vein there, letting her blood flow freely, along with her magic.

There was a concussive boom, then the frustratingly familiar walls of her cell blurred away and she found herself standing in the entrance hall to #12 Grimmauld Place, Mad-Eye Moody’s wand pointed straight at her.

She smiled, the expression shaky, and let herself collapse into his arms.

She’d done it. She was safe. And now the real work could begin. They would stop Voldemort, they would kill the little bastard that would keep him alive, and they would save the world. She just needed a moment to rest, that was all.

Everything went black around her, blocking out the sound of Moody’s frantically confused questions.

ooOOooOOoo

It was after dinner that same night that he’d visited Hermione that Voldemort returned to their suite, his expression tired and grim. He sat Harry down on the couch, then knelt in front of him. Harry didn’t know what was happening, but he was very glad to have Draco sitting next to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice shaking a little. He hoped that nothing had happened to any of their friends, though he couldn't imagine what possibly could have happened. Surely nothing could have gone that wrong?

“You went to see Hermione earlier today, didn’t you?” Voldemort asked softly. He took Harry’s hands in his own, his touch gentle.

Harry blinked at him. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Should I not have done that? Did I do something wrong, other than not telling Draco where I was going?” Had something gone wrong? What if he’d made a mistake when he went to see her? He didn’t think he had…

“How did she seem when you went to see her?” Voldemort asked, not answering his questions.

“She didn’t say anything,” Harry said slowly. “She looked tired, thin. Like you weren’t feeding her.” He frowned at that. He’d meant to say something about that, because he knew what it felt like to to starve. He didn’t want anybody to have to live with that gnawing hunger, even his ex-friend. “Were you feeding her?”

“Not as much as she would have liked,” Voldemort admitted. “But that isn’t the point,” he added hastily, because he could clearly read the expression of distaste on Harry’s face. “Did you notice anything with her magic?”

Harry shook his head. He hadn’t really been looking at her magic, to be honest. He’d been wanting… answers, maybe? He still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d gone to see her in the first place. It wasn’t like he’d ever really believed that she would apologize to him. Hermione was always too sure that she was right for her to do something like that.

“She escaped,” Voldemort said simply.

Harry had known, somewhere deep inside of himself, that that was where this was heading. She’d escaped. Of course she had. She was too smart to stay captured for long, and it didn’t surprise him that she’d found a way to subvert everything. It wouldn't surprise him to find out that Dumbledore had taught her some way of doing it, in the event of an absolute emergency.

He felt tears welling within his eyes, and he took off his glasses to dash them away. He didn’t want to cry. Why would he? She’d betrayed him a long time ago, and she would never have felt sorry for that. She never would have changed her mind, changed sides like Ron had. She would have… she would have fought till the last.

Would fight till the last, he supposed.

She would come back, Harry knew that. He knew it with a certainty that he’d never felt about anything else before. She would come back, and he would see her again. And he didn’t think it was going to go well for either one of them. She would come back to try and kill him.

He remembered the smile on her face when he’d said that she would betray Voldemort, and recognized the malicious glint in it that he hadn’t seen at first. Or maybe that was a trick of his memory. Either way, he knew what it meant.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, and warm arms curled around him.

Harry let himself be pulled close, and didn’t bother to try and stop the tears that poured down his cheeks, the small sobs that forced their way out from between his lips. He was broken hearted, and nothing would change that.

Hermione, who he’d once counted as one of his two best friends, was going to come to try to kill him. And he would have to fight her, and for all that he truly, genuinely thought he might hate her, he didn’t think he had it in him to kill her first.

He buried his head in Draco’s shoulder, letting himself cry and mourn for the friendship he’d thought he’d already let go of.

“We’ll keep you safe,” Voldemort murmured, and a third hand gently stroked along his back. Voldemort was trying to soothe him, and Harry appreciated the kindness.

He just wished that he had the words to explain that it wasn’t his safety he was crying for, but rather Hermione’s. He didn’t think that either one of them would understand, though, so he just let himself cry instead of making the attempt.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco held Harry close, and tried his hardest to ignore the fact that Voldemort was on the couch with them both, petting and trying to soothe Harry just like he was. He tried to ignore the fact that Harry seemed to be responding to Voldemort just as well as he responded to Draco, too, because that was just going to upset him.

And it wasn’t fair to be upset with Harry for something like this, because Harry deserved to take comfort from anyone who would give it to him, especially in these circumstances. It wasn’t every day that one of his former best friend’s escaped their prison, likely with the intention of coming to kill him.

He couldn’t imagine what Harry was going through. He’d be happy to try to understand, but empathy had never been one of his strongest suits. And he shouldn't be upset that Voldemort was having some luck in soothing his boyfriend, because he’d gone into this relationship knowing that Harry was very much attracted to the Dark Lord.

He would probably lose Harry to him one day, if he was being honest with his chances. How could he compete?

These thoughts weren’t helpful, not now. Not when Harry needed him, because his heart was breaking. Not when there was a chance that Granger was mustering whatever was left of Dumbledore’s birdbrained Order. Not when Harry was falling apart in his arms.

His concerns would wait for another day, when he didn’t have Harry to worry about. When Voldemort’s touch was more of a problem than a help. If Harry ever actually felt torn between the two of them, then he would worry about the attraction between Harry and Voldemort.

But not until then, because Draco had a habit of not borrowing trouble. He thought it was a pretty good habit, to be honest. Worrying about things he couldn't control did no good, after all. And right now, in this moment, Harry needed him more than he needed to worry about anything.

“It’s all going to be okay,” he murmured in Harry’s ear, and hoped that he wasn’t lying through his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, these past two months have been awful. I’m sorry for not updating, but school was hell for the month of November, and then I died a little bit (metaphorically speaking) in December with a double ear infection, bronchitis, and the beginnings of pneumonia. I’m still recovering from that mess. But happy new year to everyone, and I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Updates should be a bit more regular, at least until the story finishes. According to the outline, we have 10 chapters to go.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine - Preparations

It was early in the morning the day after Granger’s escape when Draco woke to the feeling of someone splashing cold water over his face. He came up sputtering, groping helplessly for his wand, his mind still half-asleep.

He found himself staring at someone of indeterminate gender, with a Death Eater’s mask made out of a red material. “Pathetic,” the someone said, their voice revealing them to be a man. “I could have killed you ten times over before you finally found your wand.” Then he laughed. “Oh, wait, you never found it, because I took it.”

Draco blanched when his wand was produced from between two glove-clad fingers, held delicately as though it was something disgusting. He opened his mouth, indignance giving him strength to start a protest, but then he hesitated. This person, man, whoever, had gotten into his and Harry’s room with no trouble. That meant, presumably, that whoever he was, he was here on Voldemort’s commands. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and asked, as politely as he could manage, “Who are you?”

The man’s head tilted. “You may refer to me as Ares,” he said coolly. “Our Lord has asked that I train you in combat, so that you may be prepared in the event of an attack. I warned him that such a thing might be impossible, and given your responses thus far, I’m afraid to say that I am likely correct.”

Draco gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t know that you were coming,” he said, his teeth still gritted. “Had I known, I can assure you that I would have been awake, and prepared for this conversation.”

Ares just laughed, the sound low and dark. “It’s adorable, that you think you would always be prepared for an enemy to arrive.” He handed Draco his wand, handle first. “Take that back, boy, and let’s see how you do in a duel.”

Draco took the wand and slid out of bed. He thought about pointing out that he was in his pajamas, without shoes, but he didn’t think that this Ares would care very much. Instead, he glanced at Harry, still peacefully asleep because Ares had somehow managed to avoid getting water on him, and suggested, “Perhaps we could take this elsewhere? I’d rather avoid waking him.”

Ares seemed to consider the matter. He nodded once, then, and said, “I suppose I’ll let you get dressed as well.”

“How generous,” Draco muttered, unable to bite the words back.

“And… now you’re walking through the castle barefoot and in your pajamas. Congratulations.” Ares jerked his wand, and Draco ducked around the spell that was sent his way. Maybe it had been an Imperius Curse, since the color certainly matched, but Ares hadn’t spoken.

Wordless magic. Lovely.

“If you insist,” Draco said, as calmly as he could. He left the bedroom, and Harry, behind, and hoped that whoever this Ares was, he didn’t murder him in the name of training him.

What followed were the most brutal few hours of Draco’s life. He’d had some training before, from his father and from Severus, but nothing had ever been quite like this. And even when Harry joined them sometime after lunch, not that Draco got a chance to eat, Ares didn’t let up. It was vicious, and Draco was exhausted, but by the end of the session, he felt like he might actually have a chance at fending off an attacker.

Maybe. If he was lucky.

He certainly would be more of a fight than he’d been the first time he’d been attacked, when Dumbledore and his henchmen had kidnapped Harry.

“A moment, if you will, Harry,” Ares said. His voice was noticeably softer when he directly addressed Harry, who had joined them on a drill or two. Ares hadn’t let him participate in any of the more dangerous exercises, a fact that Draco appreciated and he knew Harry resented.

Harry gave Draco a quick, gentle hug, and a sympathetic smile as well. “I’ll wait outside,” he said quietly.

Draco nodded, then turned his attention back to Ares. “How’d I do?” he asked, as soon as the door closed between them.

“You’re not as hopeless as I thought,” Ares said bluntly. “But you’re not ready to fend off any kind of major attack. I’ll expect you here for training tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded. “Thank you,” he said honestly.

“For what?” Ares turned his back on him and began gathering some of the things they’d used in their training, cleaning up the mess that they’d made.

“For teaching me,” Draco replied. “For helping me, potentially, save Harry’s life one day.”

“It’s my job.” Ares paused in the act of straightening a training dummy. “And one day, you might use this training to save his life and die in the process. How could you possibly thank me for that?”

Draco looked down at the wand in his hand, then holstered it slowly as he mulled over the words. “Because Harry needs someone to keep him safe, and I’m happy to be that person,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned and left, and Ares didn’t stop him.

When he found Harry, he smiled and held out his hand, letting Harry clutch at it. “I’m starving,” he said with only slightly forced cheer. “Want to get dinner?”

Harry beamed at him, and they headed in the general direction of their room, hand in hand.

ooOOooOOoo

Alastor Moody found himself staring across a dining room table at a woman changed. Whatever had happened in Hogwarts, she was no longer the same girl who’d gone in at the start of her sixth year. She was thinner, her face harder, and her eyes had shadows that he’d only seen on people who’d lived through a war.

But, then again, he supposed that she had lived through one.

“Tell me about Hogwarts,” he said quietly.

Hermione took a sip of her tea with fingers that didn’t shake. “Voldemort has the school,” she said quietly. She held his gaze as she spoke. “And, if the Headmaster was correct and Harry is the only one who can kill him, I can tell you that he’s almost definitely unkillable. There’s no way that Harry will ever raise a hand against him, not now.”

Moody closed his eyes. “He’s changed sides, then.” They’d worried that he was planning to, but to have it confirmed like that…

“I suppose, although I don’t know that he’ll be fighting on their side. I think he’s more of a noncombatant. He’ll never raise a wand to Voldemort because he sees Voldemort as his savior. And he’s almost constantly accompanied by the Malfoy scion, who might be serving as a bodyguard.”

Moody snorted at that. He’d seen that boy, although he’d never had the opportunity to actually see him in practice since he’d never taught at Hogwarts. Even so… “The Malfoy boy isn’t a problem,” he said bluntly. “He’ll be easily handled by any of our members, if need be. You’re sure that Potter hasn’t just been cursed into submission?”

Hermione shook her head once. “No, he’s definitely acting of his own free will at this point. As is Ron, who has also joined Voldemort’s side. Perhaps as a neutral party, but I cannot imagine that he will help us when we assault the castle.”

“If we can’t kill Voldemort,” Moody began.

Hermione shook her head. “We can’t, but we could capture him. We could kill Harry, take out most of his Death Eaters, cripple him. We could imprison him for the rest of his immortal life. He cannot be allowed to keep Hogwarts.”

There was a fire in her voice that Moody had never heard before. “The Order isn’t ready for a full assault,” he tried.

“Maybe not,” Hermione agreed, nodding. “But we need to move quickly. They know that I’ve escaped by now, which means that they’re already preparing for some kind of attack. We need to act before they can fully prepare, so that we have some kind of chance when we enter into battle. If they know we’re coming, we’ll lose everything.”

“We could lose everything this way,” Moody said. It wasn’t that he disagreed with her, because she had some very good points. It was just that he wanted to make sure that she understood what she was suggesting.

“We could,” she agreed. “But wouldn’t it be better to have gone out fighting, trying to make a difference, than it would to just fade out with a whimper?”

Moody remained silent for a long moment, then nodded his agreement. “Then we prepare for our last battle?” he asked.

She nodded, then pushed away from the table. “We should try to attack within the week,” she said. “Any longer, and we risk them being too ready.” She left the room.

Moody followed after only a moment. He’d thought himself the leader of the Order, but hearing Hermione’s passion, her rage, he was reminded of Dumbledore, and was ashamed that he’d ever considered himself such.

He was an old man, tired and worn from years of battling the dark. War was the purview of younger men, and women, and Hermione had a fire in her that he hadn’t felt in years. She was a woman he could die following into battle, and he had the feeling that he would do so with pride.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry knew that everyone around him was gearing up for what could only be described as a final battle. How could he not realize? All around him, Death Eaters swarmed through the castle like ants, on missions for their queen. Or, in this case, King, since Voldemort was no woman. Even Draco was gearing up for… for this fight that was probably coming because Hermione had escaped.

Harry couldn't imagine what else this Ares was training him for. He didn’t appreciate being excluded from the majority of the lessons, but the one time he’d protested to Voldemort instead of to Ares or Draco, he’d been shut down as kindly as possible. It wasn’t his job to fight, not anymore. And Harry appreciated that, he really did, but…

But there was still a part of him that genuinely believed it was his job to get ready for this battle, because all of his life had been in preparation for a fight, it seemed like.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Draco murmured to him, late at night on the sixth day of his training. They were both trying to sleep, but Harry was having some difficulty, and apparently his difficulty was keeping Draco awake.

“You don’t know that,” he muttered. “So don’t lie to me.” He didn’t roll onto his other side to put his back to Draco, though, no matter how tempted he was to do so, but he did close his eyes, telling himself that he was just trying to go to sleep. “And you should go to sleep, anyway. Won’t Ares have you up before dawn?”

“No,” Draco said. “He’s giving me the day off.” There was the sound of something shifting, covers moving against covers, and then a moment later Harry’s bed dipped. “Harry, what can I do to help you believe that everything’s going to be fine?”

Harry opened his eyes to look up at Draco, rolling onto his back. “You can’t know that it will,” he said quietly. “None of us can. She could attack tomorrow, with whoever the Order has left, and you could… you could…” Harry swallowed. He didn’t want to think about the fact that Draco was being trained to protect him, would potentially die to keep him safe. Harry didn’t want that.

“I could,” Draco acknowledged. He shoved at Harry gently until Harry scooted back, then settled under the covers with him and pulled Harry into his arms. It was warm there, and safe, and Harry snuggled closer shamelessly. “But I promise that I’ll do my best not to, and to keep you safe at the same time.”

“You know I’m a prodigy at Defense,” Harry pointed out, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was good, and he knew the theory of fighting to kill, but he didn’t know that he actually had that in him. No matter what Dumbledore had wanted from him in the past.

Draco kissed him, the touch of their lips soft and sweet. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I know that you would probably be an absolute fiend if Ares were to train you. But I also know that neither Voldemort nor I want that for you.”

Harry sighed at the words, soft and kind, and shifted to tug Draco even closer to him, so that the blonde was almost on top of him. “Stay here tonight?” He asked, a little bit shyly. “Just to sleep, I mean.” Because he wasn’t ready for anything more, and he didn’t think that Draco was either. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when they were older.

Draco smiled at him, then reached up and gently stroked his hair. “It would be a pleasure,” he said, and kissed Harry again, gently. He wrapped his arms around Harry, and Harry sighed at the feeling of security his embrace brought.

Maybe things wouldn’t be okay. Maybe Draco would die in the fight that Harry knew was coming, and maybe there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe he just had to let himself be protected for once, which felt so strange to him as to practically be alien.

But maybe he could also let himself enjoy quiet moments like this one, because he was positive that he liked Draco very much, maybe even loved him, and maybe he liked Voldemort too, but this was good all on its own, aside from all of the worries and stresses of everything else.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

ooOOooOOoo

Hermione stared at the Order members before her, who stared back, grim-faced and silent. They weren’t quite ready for the coming battle, but then, they never would be. And it was time.

“I know that you’re all frightened,” she said, her voice carrying easily in the silent room. “And I don’t blame you.” She wasn’t at all scared, and her even voice emphasized that fact. “But we have a duty to the rest of the wizarding world to do what we can about the monster that’s currently living in Hogwarts.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out with a small sigh when she was answered with tiny nods. “The rest of the world is in so much danger that they don’t know what to do, who to fight, how to act. We need to lead by example. We need to show them that, while it may seem to be an insurmountable task to take on Voldemort at Hogwarts, it can be done. We need to remind them that we can challenge him, and that we can, potentially win the day.”

They probably couldn’t, of course, and they would probably die making the attempt. But Hermione was willing to die, almost ready for it. Voldemort had taken everything from her, her best friend, her future, her chance at a normal life.

She would make him pay, even if the only way she could do so was by killing off his precious little pet.

A slow smile spread over her face as resolve greeted her from every other face in the Order. Yes, they would probably die today, but at least they would make him hurt while they did it.


	41. Chapter Forty - Battlefield

 

Voldemort knew that going up the stairs was going to be a bad idea. He hadn’t asked Harry to move in with him so that he could spy on him, after all. He just… he liked to be close to him, and his intentions had been purely benign at the time. He’d wanted to be able to keep an eye on Harry, and having him live with him was certainly one way of accomplishing that.

And up until this very moment, he’d managed to resist the temptation, no matter how strong it was, to look in on what Harry was doing in his room. It wasn’t a good idea, and he knew that.

Still, he told himself, Harry had been very upset for the past week or so. Of course he was, with Draco doing so many combat drills with Ares. Voldemort was just relieved that Harry had stopped asking to participate in those sessions, and had taken to just watching quietly. It was frustrating to have to turn him down all the time, but he couldn’t imagine raising a wand to Harry, even if it was just for training purposes.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered to himself, even as he took the first step up the stairs. And then, once he was on the stairs, it was far easier to keep going than it would have been to turn back. It was only a matter of seconds before he was standing in Harry and Draco’s room, and it felt like even less time than that before he spotted the two of them curled together on Harry’s bed.

  
They looked so comfortable together, Harry’s head nestled under Draco’s chin, their bodies entwined. Voldemort didn’t care to look too closely, and as such, he was uncertain as to whether or not the two of them were clothed.

Maybe they weren’t.

The thought made him almost physically nauseous, and he turned his back on the scene before he could make himself sick. He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. Harry wasn’t for him. Harry was bright, and good, and he was very much not. Harry deserved to be with someone as beautiful as he was, not that Voldemort thought that Draco was beautiful.

  
Because he didn’t.

Besides, even if he did, it was a well-documented fact that the Malfoy family was the prettiest in all of England, anyway.

He left the room feeling no better than he had when he had entered it, and in fact, feeling worse. “A lovely start to the morning,” he hissed, and stalked out of his suite before either of them could wake up. Perhaps he could make up for the morning’s disasters by being productive. There was certainly some form of paperwork to do, or perhaps there were some Death Eaters he could curse into better shape.

Perhaps he should put on his Ares mask and go visit the training rooms…

Or not, as an alarm went off, a jangling sense of wrong accompanied by a shrill whistle that sounded almost the second he stepped into his office. Something was wrong. People were slipping in through the wards, hostile people.

The Order. They were here, and they were here to fight.

  
Well then. That was something he could use to work out his frustration. He grabbed the first Death Eater he saw, and used that Mark to summon his senior members. Once they stood before him, their wands at the ready, he hissed out his orders for the attack: “No survivors. We make them pay for the audacity of entering our home.”

Orders given, he stormed into battle, seeking those who would dare attack him at his own base. They would regret it, he would make sure of it.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco didn’t particularly want to wake up.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying spending time in bed with Harry, who was warm and sleepy in his arms, but rather it was that he knew that he was headed towards a difficult conversation, and Harry probably didn’t even know it.

Part of him wanted to continue to be selfish, to let himself have his relationship with Harry while still knowing that Harry was suffering, but he couldn't actually bear to do that. He was pretty sure that he loved Harry too much to not tell him about Voldemort, about the Dark Lord’s attraction to him that he knew that Harry returned.

It had been so easy to ignore it before spending the night beside Harry, but now… now he’d heard Harry call out the Dark Lord’s name in his sleep, and Draco didn’t think he’d ever forget that. Harry had sounded so hopeful, had smiled so sweetly when the dream Voldemort did whatever it was that he did in response to hearing his name…

Draco couldn’t push that to the side, not anymore. Not if Harry was dreaming about Voldemort, because that implied a level of unhappiness that Draco just wasn’t willing to let Harry live with. Not that he wanted Harry to be unhappy at all, because of course he didn’t. He just…

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t even making sense in his own head. How could he hope to explain any of this out loud to Harry?

“You okay?” Harry asked, the words slurred with sleep.

“I’m fine,” Draco said immediately. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead and, when Harry tilted his head up in a silent request, another to his lips. “Good morning.”

Harry smiled up at him, much like the smile he’d had on his face when he’d responded to his dream. “Morning,” Harry said. He blinked, clearing some of the sleep from his eyes. “What are we doing today? Since you have a day off and everything?”

Draco wasn’t sure, honestly. Part of him wanted to go and work off some energy anyway in the practice rooms, maybe have a friendly duel with Harry, but the rest of him just wanted to stay in bed and cuddle. Not that he would ever admit to that out loud.

He opened his mouth to suggest that they share breakfast together when a loud, shrill warning bell began to ring. His arms tightened around Harry spasmodically, then he forced himself to let them go. “Offhand, I would say that we should get dressed and then head towards the safe rooms that Ares was telling me about,” he said, as calmly as he could.

Harry was staring at him, his eyes wide. “Hermione’s here,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Most likely,” Draco agreed. He slid out of bed and extended his hand to Harry. “We shouldn’t make it easy on them.”

“You think they’re coming for me.” Harry swallowed, but reached for Draco’s hand and let himself be pulled from the bed.

“I’m almost positive that they are,” Draco said. “But don’t worry, Harry. I won’t let them take you.”

Harry closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. “I can protect myself,” he muttered. Draco didn’t think he’d meant to let the words escape, so he didn’t comment on them. Instead, they both dressed and headed out into the halls, which, in this area, were mostly silent.

Hopefully, they would stay that way until they could reach one of the safe rooms.

ooOOooOOoo

She knew that they were being hunted through the castle, but Hermione didn’t care. She had one goal, and one goal only. She was going to kill Harry, and she would do whatever it took to fulfill that goal. She had to. He was the key.

_ Neither can live while the other survives. _

If she killed him, they could kill Voldemort. Maybe it wouldn’t take right away, but it could be done. She probably wouldn’t live to see it, but she could die happy, knowing that it was coming. That Voldemort would one day be defeated, and the world would be safe for all wizards once more, not just wizards that Voldemort thought were worthy.

“They’ll be seeking shelter somewhere,” she said to Moody as he followed her. “There are only so many places in the castle that they could be, and we’ll check all of them. The closest would be in the dungeons.”

“How do you know that?” Fred asked behind her as they followed.

  
She’d thought about splitting up the Order, arranging for a distraction much like Voldemort had done, but she’d figured that would be seen through too easily. After all, Voldemort had done just that to take the castle in the first place. “Because Dumbledore showed those places to me long before the castle fell,” she said, and then focused on figuring out where Harry would be hidden.

At one point, she realized that they’d met battle, and she and Moody left most of the Order behind to handle said battle. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Ron’s voice somewhere in the fighting, likely asking his family to stand down.

She would have laughed, had she not been so intent on her prey. The Weasleys were devout in their worship of Dumbledore, and would never stand down. Not to someone they perceived as having betrayed them, anyway.

Instead, she just kept moving. Moody shadowed her, silent in his presence. She wouldn't have known he was there at all, were it not for the thumping of his fake leg on the ground. And then… and then she found them, not moving towards the battle but away from it, and she wasn’t surprised. They were just outside of one of the safe rooms that Dumbledore had told her about so long ago.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, and raised her wand.

She wasn’t prepared for the vicious curse that was spat from Malfoy’s lips, and dodged the red light that sprang from his wand. And then the fight was on, and she just barely managed to keep up. Malfoy had been practicing, apparently, because he was very good. Not as good as Moody, probably, and she wondered why Moody wasn’t joining the fight.

And then she heard Moody shout,  _ “Avada Kedavra!” _ and watched the awful green light lance towards Harry. There was a flash of silver something, then, a desperate shout from Malfoy that she didn’t quite make out, and then…

...everything went black.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco had expected to fight two on one, or two on two, if Harry was able to join the fight. He hadn’t expected Moody to launch a fucking Killing Curse at Harry, though. He did the only thing he could think of in the moment, and summoned a nearby mirror to deflect the curse.

It rebounded, and struck Hermione solidly in the chest. She fell, and then Draco found himself embroiled in a duel with Moody.

He wouldn't have been ready for it before his training with Ares, and probably still wasn’t, not really, but he did the best he could. He stood his ground, and hoped that Harry had had the sense to flee the site of the battle. He knew, somehow, that Harry hadn’t.

And then he knew for sure when a curse slipped past his guard and he heard Harry let out a gurgling, broken scream.

No.

Draco didn’t dare turn to look behind him, because to turn was for both of them to die. Harry wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. He just… he couldn’t be. He had to still be alive.

He threw another Killing Curse, the third or fourth he’d thrown since the fight had begun, and prayed that this one would connect. Moody didn’t even try to dodge this time, which meant that it did connect, and Moody fell to the ground, dead, with a smile on his face.

That could only mean…

Draco turned, his heart in his throat. “Harry,” he breathed, and stumbled forward, his body numb. It couldn’t be. Harry couldn’t be…

But there was so much blood. How could he not be dead? There was no way that he could have lost so much blood and still be…

There was a chance. There was always a chance. He cast an emergency stasis spell, one of the few healing spells that he knew because he’d never bothered to fucking learn, and how much he regretted that decision in that very moment, and then screamed for help.

He didn’t know what else to do.

ooOOooOOoo

As soon as the alarm went off, Ron knew that this was it. That any of his family who were still members of the Order would be here, fighting in whatever fight was coming. And he heard what a masked Death Eater was saying, that they’d been ordered to take no prisoners, but it hadn’t really occurred to him what that meant until it was too late.

Until he was facing his brothers, Fred and George, and his parents, across a small battlefield.

“You could put your wands down,” Ron suggested, his voice shaking. Daphne was beside him, her wand out, and there were other students there, too. Too many for his parents to handle, for his brothers to handle. They were going to die. If not fighting them, then fighting the actual, marked Death Eaters that they would run into next.

“Or you could,” his Mum said. “They killed your sister, Ron, how could you stay on their side?”

Ron swallowed, and didn’t answer.

“Answer me!” Mum’s voice got shrill, and she jerked her wand sharply. “You tell me how you could choose them over your family, Ron, your family! We’re Weasleys, and family is everything!”

“Because Harry was my family too!” Ron exploded. His fingers tightened on his wand. “Because he was like a brother to me, and Dumbledore turned him into a slave and nobody cared! And Ginny was going to… she didn’t even care that he didn’t have any free will, and I don’t know how I should be happy to have a rapist in my family!”

He didn’t know which brother, whether it was Fred or George, who threw the first curse, all he knew was that he was pulled out of the way and pushed to the back of the group. He didn’t have to watch as his new friends, as Daphne, who he thought maybe he could really love one day, brought his family members to their knees.

They weren’t dead at the end of it, just subdued and tied up. And when Ron tried to speak to his mother one last time, she just said, flatly, “You’re no child of mine, and I have nothing to say to you.”

It hurt, of course it did, and Ron wanted to argue with them, but… but he’d already known the consequences for the decisions that he’d made. He turned his back on them, and was about to ask Daphne or Blaise what they should do next when a desperate scream for help split the air.

It was Draco.

“I’ll get a healer,” Blaise said, and took off running in the opposite direction from the scream.

Everyone else went towards it, and Ron just hoped that the fear in Draco’s voice didn’t mean the worst, that Harry was dead. Merlin, he didn’t know how any of them would survive it if he were.


	42. Chapter Forty-One - Aftermath

 

He looked so small, lying there in the hospital bed, again.

 

Draco had trouble catching his breath, because the guilt he felt was so very overwhelming. Harry didn’t deserve to wind up in this situation, barely breathing, his skin so pale, an angry red wound slashing across his throat. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, of course, because he was going to live, but Merlin…

 

Draco didn’t think he’d ever forget the pained cry Harry had let out when he’d gone down, the gurgling sound of his blood as it spurted from his throat.

 

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, where he rested his head on it. Harry was going to live, and that was the important thing. He was going to live, and he was going to be just fine. Relatively fine, anyway. His voice… Draco’s mother had warned him that his voice might never be the same. The damage done by the curse…

 

It could be permanent, could take his ability to speak, and Harry didn’t deserve that.

 

“I trusted you.”

 

Draco flinched, and didn’t look up. “I know,” he whispered. The words came out choked. Apparently Voldemort’s trust in him had been a terrible mistake, and that’s how they got to where they were. Because Harry was in the hospital again, and it was because Draco hadn’t been able to keep him safe in spite of all of Ares’ training.

 

And to think Draco had thought that he would be able to protect him. What a joke.

 

“I trusted you, and this is what I return to?” Voldemort stepped further into the room; Draco could hear his footsteps on the floor. “He could have died, Draco.”

 

Guilt rose within Draco once more, a nausea-inducing tidal wave. “I know,” he said again. He didn’t have a defense to offer, so he didn’t bother trying. He’d failed Voldemort, and Harry, twice now. He’d be lucky to walk away from this with his life, but that wasn’t why he was upset.

 

He’d failed Harry. Harry was nearly dead, again, because of him. How could he not feel guilty?

 

_ “Crucio!” _

 

The word, harsh and cold with fury, didn’t come as a surprise, and Draco didn’t bother trying to dodge it. Why would he, when he deserved it? He didn’t notice it when he fell from the chair, writhing in agony, and tried his hardest to swallow his screams. He didn’t want Harry to return from unconsciousness to the sound of his cries, after all.

 

“Stop that!” The sharp voice was his mother’s, vicious and angry.

 

The curse was cancelled, and Voldemort hissed out, “You dare tell me what to do?” He took one step towards Narcissa, who was standing just in Draco’s field of view, her shoes barely visible beneath Harry’s bed.

 

“In my infirmary, yes, I dare,” she snarled. “If you need to torture someone, do it outside of this room! I have injured people here, resting and recovering. They don’t need to worry about you torturing them for their failures while they’re trying to get better.”

 

“The only one who failed me today was your son,” Voldemort hissed. But, rather than cursing Draco once more, Draco watched from the floor as he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

 

His mother came to his side and helped him up with careful hands. “Are you okay, Draco?” she asked, her voice far warmer than it had been.

 

Draco blinked back the tears that wanted to fall. He had no right to them. “No,” he said honestly. He glanced at Harry, still so still on the bed. “And I won’t be for a long time.”

 

A part of him, small and admittedly unhealthy, wished that she hadn’t interrupted, that she’d let Voldemort torture him as much as he wanted. After all, Draco was pretty sure that he’d deserved it for failing once more.

 

Narcissa didn’t say anything at all, just pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, brushed his hair from his face, and left him. She did give him a potion designed to counter the worst of the side effects from the Cruciatus Curse, and Draco drank it because he didn’t want to deal with her complaints, but then he was left alone once more by Harry’s bedside, hoping that he really would be okay.

 

He didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort leaned against the wall outside of the infirmary, his eyes closed, his head pressed against the cool stone of the wall. Regret wasn’t a feeling that he dealt with often, having long ago decided his course in life, but the unfamiliar feeling was definitely making an appearance.

  
Draco didn’t deserve his anger, not really. It wasn’t his fault that Harry had been taken down, and his quick thinking had likely saved Harry’s life. Voldemort knew that he was angry with him because he was displacing his own sense of guilt for not having been there to save Harry himself onto Draco, and that guilt was turning into rage.

 

It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, regret, so Voldemort turned that feeling elsewhere.

 

Rage came easily once more, and this time he used it destroying the members of the Weasley clan, one after the other. He knew why the students had captured them rather than killing them, and he appreciated the kindness they were showing to Harry’s friend, who would doubtlessly have been devastated by watching his family members die.

 

And, as a small bonus, Voldemort found that as he killed each one in rapid succession, his rage eased ever so slightly.

 

But it wasn’t enough. His rage still roared within him, a living thing that he couldn’t quite get rid of. So he stalked off to the Room of Requirement, which Harry had been kind enough to explain to him one slow evening, and asked for a place to destroy things.

 

The inanimate objects did nothing for him, nor did the training dummies the Room provided for him. If anything, they only served to make him even more angry because of how useless they were. He left the room in a frustrated state, and stormed off to his office.

 

He paused on the way, an idea striking him. The Order was gone. Moody had died in the attack, as had the Longbottom matriarch. The Weasleys, or the ones participating in the war at least, had all died in the aftermath, and he honestly wasn’t sure who all was left. No one important, certainly. And if that was the case, as it seemed to be, then…

 

Then perhaps it was time to act. Perhaps it was time to finish this war once and for all.

 

He shrugged, then redirected his steps towards the Great Hall. If nothing else, at least finally taking the Ministry would give him an appropriate outlet for the rage that roared inside of him.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The Dark Lord looked almost unhinged in his rage, pacing before them mindlessly, waiting for other Death Eaters to arrive.

 

Severus felt a certain measure of sympathy for the man, having heard of Harry’s injuries. Voldemort would be beside himself because of that, and surely whatever was to come would be disastrous for one group or another. He would be looking to slake his rage in some form, and Severus had no doubt that whatever form that took would be devastating.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. The hall filled rapidly, with more numbers than Severus had expected. Had they been joined by more people during the months they’d been at Hogwarts? It would only make sense, he supposed, given that they were quite obviously holed up here, and that they were winning in the eyes of most people. He simply hadn’t noticed, having been too busy teaching, and then too swept up in his new relationship with Remus.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Remus whispered to him, and linked their hands together surreptitiously.

 

Severus scoffed. “You cannot guarantee that,” he said, comforted in spite of his harsh words. 

 

“Of course I can’t,” Remus responded. His hand tightened and then released, slipping back into his robes. “But I believe it. We’re going to be fine, whatever is happening. And Harry will be fine. He’ll recover, and everything will be as okay as it can be.”

 

Severus knew how much Remus’ decisions weighed on him, how much he worried about Lily and James and Sirius and the way that they would feel about him at the end of it all. Severus wished that he could do something to alleviate those fears, but he doubted he would ever be able to. All he could do was be there for Remus, and pray that they both made it out of whatever was coming alive.

 

“We’re going to destroy the Ministry today,” Voldemort said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention with a simple sentence. “We’re going to strike when they least expect it, and we’re going to take what is ours. Today, my followers, we’re going to win the war.”

 

He continued to talk, doubtlessly riling the most loyal of his followers into a frenzy, but Severus tuned him out. It was exactly what he’d suspected, and while he had no doubt that they would emerge from the day’s battle victorious, he also knew that there would be a heavy price to pay. There was always going to be, when the Ministry went under attack.

 

Certainly, double agents within the Ministry would help, but as Severus looked around the hall, at the masked faces of dozens, if not hundreds, of Voldemort’s loyal followers, he couldn’t help but wonder what the chances were of even half of them surviving this battle.

 

What if Remus didn’t…

 

He cut the thought off ruthlessly. There was nothing he could do, one way or another. There was a chance that he wouldn’t even be going into battle; his value as a Potions Master tended to far exceed his value as a duellist, although he was competent. The only thing he could do was wait for his orders.

 

And hope that Remus was one of the ones who made it, because as a werewolf and phenomenal fighter, he would almost definitely be on the front lines of the coming battle.

 

When Voldemort stopped speaking and gave the order for everyone to report to their squad leaders for further orders, Severus found himself being pulled into a hasty kiss by Remus. “I’m going to be okay,” he breathed against Severus’ lips. “I love you, and I’ll come back.”

 

“I might be out there with you,” Severus whispered back, his hands clenching into fists as he fought the urge to pull Remus into his arms.

 

Remus’ laugh was soft, warm, and kind. “No,” he said, and pressed another swift kiss to Severus’ lips. “Wish me luck, Sev.”

 

“Good luck, Remus,” Severus breathed, and stole another kiss. Then Remus was gone, disappearing into the crowd, likely in search of Greyback.

 

Severus found his own leader, Lucius, and was unsurprised when he was told that he would be sitting this battle out. It only made sense.

  
Still, a part of him wished that he could go and protect Remus to the best of his meager abilities. As it was, he simply had to hope that Remus was still every bit as good as he remembered, because the thought of him not coming back from this battle was intolerable.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry’s hand was limp in his own, and he hadn’t stirred at all, but that didn’t stop Draco from holding his hand carefully in both of his own. It was a comfort to him to feel the warmth of it, to know that Harry was still alive.

 

The door opened behind him once more, and Draco braced himself. If he was going to be cursed again, he wanted to be prepared for it. He wanted to drop Harry’s hand before he could hurt him in his flailing. But instead of cursing him, Voldemort simply came to stand beside him at Harry’s bedside.

 

“We’re moving on the Ministry today,” Voldemort said quietly. His voice was even, all the rage from earlier gone.

 

“What do you need me to do?” Draco couldn’t imagine that he’d play any major role in this, not after the mistakes he’d already made. If anything, he might be fighting on the front lines, perhaps in the hopes that he would die in the battle.

 

“Exactly what you’re already doing,” Voldemort said. “Stay with Harry. Keep him as safe as you can, just in case some unknown enemy uses the battle as an opportunity to slip into the castle and finish what the Order began.”

 

Draco sagged a little in relief. He was still trusted to stay with Harry. “I will,” he promised, the words fervent. There was nothing in his life more important than keeping Harry alive. Except… “You need to make sure that you come back safe as well, my Lord,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

 

Voldemort started beside him, his eyes widening. “Excuse me?” the Dark Lord asked, his voice a little high with surprise. “You dare presume to—”

 

“Harry would be devastated if you died while he was unconscious,” Draco said quickly. “It would break his heart, my Lord. You should keep that in mind when you’re out there storming the Ministry.” He couldn't imagine where the courage to say those words came from, but Draco knew that they were true.

  
Even if they might get him tortured.

 

But Voldemort didn’t torture him. Instead, he said quietly, “I’ll do my best.” Then, before Draco could respond, he added, “Give me a few moments with him? Wait outside the room. You can come back in when I’m done.”

 

Draco nodded and stood immediately. He bowed to the Dark Lord, then slipped out of the room without saying anything else, relieved that his knees were only shaking slightly. How could he have said those things? He was lucky he hadn’t been cursed again, especially given how volatile the Dark Lord was feeling.

 

He leaned against the wall, and tried his hardest not to simply slide down it because his knees felt like jelly. He hadn’t been cursed again, and Harry was going to live. He could worry about anything else later.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort drew in a shuddering breath as he perched lightly on the side of Harry’s bed. He was careful not to jostle the sleeping man, whose wound still looked like it could kill him at any given moment. “I’m going to take vengeance for you,” he murmured.

 

He stroked a finger over Harry’s cheek, then over his lips. Then, with a small sigh, powerless to resist the temptation, Voldemort leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry’s. The touch was gentle, barely there, and he pulled back quickly, trying to ignore the way that his lips tingled. He tenderly stroked Harry’s hair back from his face, his eyes falling closed. He drew in a deep breath and ran his fingers carefully over Harry’s scar, which no longer seemed to react to his presence.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That was hardly appropriate of me, but you’ll have to forgive me it. It’s likely the only chance I’ll ever have.” He opened his eyes to stare at Harry for another long moment. He cleared his throat to try and get rid of the knot that was building in it.

 

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder as he stared at Harry, his horcrux, and quite possibly the only person he’d ever really loved, still in the bed, framed by sterile white sheets. “Once I’ve won the war, once I’ve defeated the Ministry, I’ll come back. And by then you’ll be on your feet again, and we can have a celebration, just you, me, and Draco.” He stumbled on the last name, but managed to get ahold of himself.

 

He pressed a kiss to Harry’s scar, then stood and drew in a deep breath. He turned and swept from the infirmary, his stride sure. He didn’t stop to speak to Draco, knowing that if he did he might very well break down.

 

Harry would never be his, not when Draco was so much more than Voldemort had ever imagined him to be, and it would be for the best if he didn’t return until he could actually accept that. He didn’t think he was strong enough to stay away, but perhaps it was time that he tried.

 

Besides, he had a war to finish.


	43. Chapter Forty-Two - Final Battle

 

Rufus had been studying a map of Hogwarts when the Patronus burst through his door, pattering on tiny feet and leaping on top of the table.  The Weasel was translucent and barely there, but it was there, and its warning was terrifying.  “The Order has fallen,” it said.  “All is lost.”

 

Rufus had no idea who it belonged to, but he assumed the message was legitimate.  Why wouldn’t it be?  What good could possibly come of warning the Ministry that the Order of the Phoenix had been defeated?

 

He drew in a shuddering breath and nodded.  “Thank you,” he said.

 

The Patronus faded away to nothing, leaving Rufus wondering what the hell he was going to do now.  Why had the Order moved on Hogwarts without telling them that they were going to?  He could have supplied them with Aurors, with…

 

But he couldn’t have, could he?

 

Not when Hogwarts was practically an impenetrable fortress.  Not when he’d been studying all the maps that existed of the damned school only to come up short each and every time, because there was no way in but those that everyone already knew about.  Or at least, no way that he knew of.  

 

He could never have justified dispatching his Aurors into the slaughter that the Death Eaters would have made of it, could never have justified throwing lives away with little chance of success.

 

Rufus closed his eyes and let his head rest on the cold wood of his desk.  It helped ground him, not that being grounded was doing much good these days.  He looked up eventually, once more staring at the map.  “I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly, relieved to admit it even though there was no one around to hear him say it.

 

Or maybe that was why it was such a relief.  He didn’t know what to do, and he’d been thinking it for so long…  Saying the words out loud where there was no one to judge him was a weight off of his shoulders.

 

He sighed.

  
Well, if there was nothing else to do, maybe the time had come to throw themselves at Voldemort with everything they had and hope that it was enough to actually do some damage.  Maybe it was time for that suicide run, since it seemed like nothing else was going to work.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.  It was never time for a suicide run.  Not until there was literally nothing left.  At least now, in the moment, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were staying behind the walls of Hogwarts.  Yes, they couldn’t get in to fight them, but Voldemort also wasn’t leaving to try and take the rest of the Ministry.

 

Rufus supposed that he should be grateful for small favors.

 

And then the alarms went off, and he realized that their time, whatever they’d once had, had just run out.  Voldemort was here, and Rufus didn’t think that he was leaving until he had what he wanted.  Looked like it was time to go out fighting, at least.

 

In a way, that was also a relief.  Now there were no more major decisions to make, because he would never surrender to Voldemort.  Now, it was just a question of how quickly he would die.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Remus snarled at the Auror in front of him, his fingers curled into something closer to claws than actual hands.  He swiped at him with one hand, wand clenched tightly in the other, and watched as the Auror went flying.  He finished him off with a brutal cutting curse, and tried to pretend like he hadn’t just cut down one of the good guys.

 

Like he wasn’t turning into the monster he’d always believed himself to be.

 

It didn’t work, especially not when Fenrir, beside him, tore into the throat of a helpless young woman, whose screams cut off in a pathetic gurgle.

 

Remus gagged when he heard Fenrir biting into her even further, when her blood sprayed out in an arch in front of him.  He had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths, and hoped that it would be enough to keep himself from throwing up.

 

It worked, but only just barely.

 

While he’d been composing himself, the line of Death Eaters behind him and the other werewolves was advancing, their pace slow and steady.  There wasn’t much for them to do, behind Fenrir’s pack the way they were.  They were more useful in open spaces rather than the hallways, when they didn’t have the wolves acting as personal shields.

 

One of the few benefits of lycanthropy was the protection from many curses that it offered.  It wouldn't stop an Unforgivable, and wouldn't completely stop a Blasting Curse or many others, but minor ones would never touch a werewolf.

 

“You’re doing well,” Fenrir growled, finally dropping the girl’s body.

 

“I don’t feel like I am,” Remus said honestly, even as they continued forward.  There didn’t seem to be anyone in between them and the next large room, but that could change if someone came running out from a side hallway.

 

“You’re a bit squeamish, but you’ll get over it eventually,” Fenrir said.

 

That wasn’t what Remus had meant at all.  He wasn’t doing well.  How could he be, when he felt so sick if he looked back at the carnage behind them?  Most of these people were innocent, had nothing to do with the war.  What Voldemort was doing…

 

But Remus knew that he’d made a deal with Voldemort to continue to be close to Harry, the one thing remaining of much happier times.  And that deal required him to deal with doing things like this, possibly for the rest of his life.

 

When the werewolf ahead of him caught someone else by the throat, biting down with a muffled howl, Remus fought down the urge to throw up once more. Merlin, he hoped that he wouldn’t have to deal with this for the rest of his life.

 

He didn’t think he could handle it.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Taking the Ministry was almost pathetically easy.  Their defenses crumbled like paper before Voldemort, which would normally have pleased him.  At the moment, he found it to be particularly frustrating.  After all, he was here to blow off some steam, and with everything going well, he hadn’t even had to throw a curse.

 

He did get to fire one off about halfway through the Ministry, when some idiotic little chit snuck behind them somehow and tried to kill him with a botched Killing Curse.  The little girl didn’t even really know how to throw it, but she tried anyway.  It fizzled out before the light could even properly leave her wand.  Even with it being aimed at him, he still found it more amusing than anything else.

 

When they finally breached the Minister’s inner sanctum, Voldemort was amused to find Scrimgeour himself there, but also several members of the Wizengamot and several Aurors that had doubtlessly been held in reserve to make one last, desperate stand.

 

They were cut down with such speed that Voldemort couldn’t help but laugh a little.  Thicknesse fell in the abrupt, brutal assault, and Voldemort would have been sorry to lose his puppet, but he’d outlived his usefulness at that point.

  
After all, they had the Ministry.  They didn’t need anything else.

 

“What now?” Lucius asked in the hush that fell after the spells stopped flying.

 

“There are doubtlessly areas that haven’t been wiped out yet,” Voldemort said with a shrug.  “Keep searching, find and kill any and all Ministry employees.  If they surrender, I suppose we could take them prisoner.”

 

Lucius bowed to him, then swept from the room.  Voldemort could hear him delivering orders through the thick wood of the door.  He closed his eyes and listened, briefly, then let a small smile spread over his lips.

 

It was over.  They’d won.  All he had to do now was set up the government he’d been thinking of since he’d started this war so many years ago.  

 

After conquering the Ministry, it seemed like it might be possible.  And, if he was lucky, it would distract him from the inappropriate feelings that still burned inside of him.  That would be a nice side-benefit.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The Aurors had fallen, and there was no way out of the Ministry.  Percy was no fool.  The Death Eaters were advancing, had taken out the Minister, and the only thing to do now was to either die fighting, or surrender and hope that one of the Death Eater’s was inclined to show mercy.

 

Percy, frankly, doubted that they were inclined to any such behavior.

 

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he did consider surrendering.  Who wouldn’t?  If there was even a chance that they would let him live…

 

And one of the girls with him, she did surrender.  She dropped her wand and folded herself onto the ground, splaying her hands out in front of her.  But she was a nothing and a no one.  She wasn’t a Weasley, and there was no way that someone like Lucius Malfoy would ever accept a Weasley who surrendered.

 

No, Percy’s best option at this point, for all that it wasn’t a particularly good option, was to go out fighting.  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do, it wasn’t how he’d thought his life would go, but there was nothing to do about it now.

 

He supposed he’d just been born at the wrong time.  Maybe, if he was lucky, his death would inspire those few still alive in their small office to keep fighting.

 

He stood, wand drawn, the first word of the incantation for a Blasting Curse on his lips.  But he was no duellist, and he was cut down before he could even really get the first word out.  As he fell, the light dimming in his eyes, he noticed the other people he’d been hiding with dropping their wands and bowing down, much like the first girl.

 

It was over.  He supposed there was a benefit to this.  He wouldn’t have to live to see what a world under Voldemort’s rule would look like.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco’s eyes fluttered open when he felt a light pressure on his hand.  He sat up quickly and looked at Harry’s face, hoping to see a hint of the green of his eyes, or at least see his eyelids twitching, but there was none of that.  Just a slight squeeze on his hand.

 

He let out a shuddering sigh and relaxed ever so slightly.  Harry was still alive, and would stay that way.  He would be fine.  His voice might be ruined, he might not speak, but he would still be okay.

 

The clicking of Narcissa’s shoes on the floor announced her arrival at Harry’s bedside.  “He’s making his way slowly up towards consciousness, according to his scans,” she said quietly.  Her hand landed on Draco’s shoulder, and she rubbed it.  “And your father has sent word from the Ministry.”

 

Draco both wanted to know, needed to know if he were being completely honest, and didn’t at the same time.  “What’s the news?” he asked, because needing definitely outweighed not wanting to know.

 

“We’ve won,” she said simply.  “The Ministry fell today.  We took a handful of prisoners, but not many, and no one of note.  I think that the Dark Lord wasn’t going to risk having anything happen by letting anyone with actual power survive.”

 

“Not after what happened with Granger,” Draco muttered.  He couldn’t blame him, honestly.  He wouldn’t want to let anything else happen to Harry, and leaving someone alive with a very good reason to want to kill him?

 

That was just asking for trouble.

 

“That was my line of thinking as well,” Narcissa agreed with a nod.  “Now, you should go and eat something, Draco.  You’ve been sitting here since he got injured, except for when the Dark Lord threw you out.”

 

Draco shook his head, his stomach churning.  “I’m not hungry.”  Harry was going to be fine, but that didn’t mean that Draco was willing to leave him on his own.  Just in case any enemies were still left alive, Draco knew that he couldn’t leave him.

 

Narcissa sighed.  “What if I bring you a tray?” she asked.

 

Draco hesitated, then nodded.  “Yeah, okay,” he said.  “Thanks, Mother.”

 

She kissed him on the forehead.  “It’s not a problem,” she murmured, then swept from the room.  

 

In Draco’s hand, Harry’s twitched, curling tighter for just a moment before releasing.  His brow furrowed, and he let out a scratchy, grumbling sound, but he didn’t actually wake up.  But that was okay.  Draco know that it wouldn’t be long before he did.  After all, this was a bright and beautiful new world, where the Ministry had fallen and they’d won the war.

 

Anything could happen.


	44. Chapter Forty-Three - A New Order

 

There was a tap on the door, like someone had knocked against the edge of it, and then Draco heard the door open.  He turned his head slightly to look, to find Severus looming in the doorway.

 

“Is there news?” he asked, his heart leaping into his throat.  The Dark Lord had left hours ago, and no word had come to Hogwarts regarding the fate of the MInistry, and the Dark Lord.  If he died while Harry was unconscious…

 

Draco didn’t think Harry would recover from that.

 

“We’ve won,” Severus said simply.  He smiled, the expression thin and drawn.  “And with remarkably few casualties.  Your mother likely won’t even be needed, and there are no potions for me to brew at the moment.”  He hesitated, then nodded at Harry.  “Would you like me to sit with him while you take a shower?”

 

The ‘no’ was on the tip of Draco’s tongue.  He hadn’t left Harry’s side since he’d been injured, and it was his job to keep Harry safe, even if Harry was confined to a bed in the hospital wing, but…  But it had been hours, and he knew that he was starting to look a little gross.  And he’d never showered after his duel with Moody and Granger.

 

He sighed.  “I guess I’d better go clean up,” he muttered.  He stood, his legs protesting the movement.  They creaked like he was far older than he actually was, and he wondered briefly how long he’d really been sitting there.

 

He forced himself to let that thought go, but then another occurred to him.  “You’ll stay with him, though, right?” he asked, a little anxiously.  “What happens if the Dark Lord needs a potion from you as soon as I leave?”

 

“I’ll tell him to wait,” Severus said peacefully.  “And he might be upset about that, but when I explain to him that I’m sitting with Harry while you handle some necessary bodily functions, he’ll get over it.”

 

Sometimes Draco thought that Severus was far too brave to be a Slytherin.  He wasn’t at all sure that he could imagine speaking to Voldemort that way.  “Right,” he muttered.  He drew in a deep breath, then leaned down and brushed a quick kiss across Harry’s forehead.

 

Then he turned and left.  He had to shower, so that he could be there for Harry when he woke up.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The owl arrived late in the evening on the same day that the majority of adults had vacated the castle to go and finally finish the war on the Dark Lord’s behalf.  It must have borne good news, because the Slytherin who was reading it was breaking into a massive smile.

 

Ron wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to know what news the owl carried.

 

“We’ve won,” Blaise said, announcing it to his fellow students.  He beamed at them.  “It’s over.  The Dark Lord has taken the Ministry.  There’s nothing more to be done.”  Then he cocked his head to one side.  “Or, at least, nothing dangerous,” he added with a small laugh.

 

The cheer that rose from thestudents hardly should have come as a surprise to Ron, and yet, he found that it did.  Why was he surprised?  This was what they’d all been wanting, himself, he supposed, included.  But was it really?  He’d just wanted…

 

But then, he’d known what would happen when he gave Harry back to Voldemort.  Why was he so surprised that the war was over and the Light had lost?  Or maybe… maybe surprised was the wrong word, because he wasn’t really.  As soon as he’d handed Harry to Voldemort, he’d removed any chance the Light had of winning.  And he’d known that, or at least, he’d thought he had.

 

But maybe he hadn’t really understood what he’d been doing.  Because now a madman was in control of the Ministry, and Ron couldn’t see how that was a good thing, in spite of the quickly forming party around him.  Didn’t they understand how bad it was that Voldemort now had no one to put him in check?  How many people would die now because their blood wasn’t ‘pure’ enough?

 

Ron felt a little sick.  He turned his head away and swallowed against the rising nausea.  He couldn’t stay here and celebrate.  He’d thought he’d been making the right decision, that he’d been prepared for the consequences of said decision, but…  but…

 

Maybe he hadn’t realized just what he’d been doing.  And now that it was over, regret sat heavy and sour in his stomach.

 

He left the Slytherin common room and practically fled down the hall.  He didn’t want them to see him being upset.  They wouldn’t understand.  This was what they’d been hoping for, what their families had been fighting for since before they were born.

 

“Ron!”

 

Ron stilled at the sound of Daphne’s voice.  He tried to force a smile onto his face as he turned around.  “What’s up?” he asked.

 

His attempt at smiling must not have worked, because Daphne’s face fell.  “Are you okay?” she asked, walking towards him.  She held out a hand when she got close enough.

 

Ron took it, his fingers curling around hers without reservation.  “Not really,” he said honestly.  “But I know that everyone else is happy about this, so I didn’t want to bring down the mood.  I thought I’d go for a walk.”

 

“Do you want company?” she asked.  She stepped closer to him.  “I’d be glad to walk with you.”

 

Ron hesitated.  He did want company, desperately, but he didn’t think that he wanted to pull her away from the celebration.  He knew that she was happy about the Dark’s victory, and…  He stopped the thoughts and drew in a deep breath.  “I’d love company,” he said honestly.  She wouldn’t have offered if she hadn’t meant it.

 

She smiled at him, her eyes warm and soft.  “Then let’s walk,” she said, and tugged him into motion with a gentle pull on his hand.

 

With every step they took, Ron found it a little easier to breathe, a little easier to forget his guilt over his role in the loss of the Ministry, a little easier to start to forget that most of his family was probably dead, and those that were still alive doubtlessly had no inclination to ever speak to him again.

 

He might be alone in the world, technically speaking, but with Daphne at his side, it didn’t feel much like that at all.  And maybe, with time, he’d be able to come to peace with himself and the decisions he’d made.  Because saving Harry had been so very important to him, more important than the lives of anyone else he’d doomed by making his choice, and he had to remember that.

 

He’d made a choice, and even if he was less sure than he had been that it was the right one, it had still been his choice, and no one else’s.  And if one of the consequences of his choice was wandering through Hogwarts in the general direction of the Astronomy Tower with a beautiful girl on his arm, well, that he couldn’t complain about.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The discussion had begun civilly, but it didn’t take long for it to spiral out of control.  Lucius supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, given how many volatile personalities were in the room.  He thought that perhaps he should simply be grateful that the Dark Lord himself was staying out of the argument regarding who would have the most say in the forming of their new order.

 

It was a bit surprising, as Lucius had thought that his Lord would have more of an opinion on how things were going to be run, but then, he supposed that the Dark Lord was more than a bit distracted, what with the Potter boy still unconscious, according to his wife.

 

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Lucius interjected when a particularly atrocious suggestion filtered through his distraction.  He fought back a theatrical shudder.  No, Greyback should never be allowed to have anything to do with any kind of regulatory agency, much less one that would involve children.

 

“What do you mean?” Greyback growled, a look of genuine offense on his face.  “I think I’d be amazing at my new job.”

 

“Your new job is not going to be eating children!” Lucius snapped.  He stopped himself before he could reach for his wand, although the temptation was, admittedly, there.  He wouldn’t turn what was supposed to be a civil discussion into a brawl.

 

“Not all children, just the ones of our enemies,” Greyback said with a fearsome scowl.  “It isn’t like I’m a total animal; I can recognize the difference between our enemies and our allies.”

 

“There will be no deliberate eating of children in our new government!” Lucius snapped.

 

Greyback stood, his face shifting into a snarl.  “Well, nobody put you in charge of this thing, Malfoy, so why don’t you just—”

 

“Enough,” Voldemort said quietly, his voice still managing to bring the argument to a halt.

 

Greyback opened his mouth to protest, took one look at the Dark Lord’s face, then blanched and sat down.  He looked down at the table and muttered something that sounded almost like an apology.

 

“Lucius will be in charge of building our new Ministry,” Voldemort said, and then stood.  “And I don’t want to hear any complaints, or hear from him that anyone’s arguing with him.  Lucius, walk with me.”

 

Lucius swallowed, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest.  “Of course, my Lord,” he said, just barely managing to not stammer.  He stood and swept out of the room behind the Dark Lord, then stopped when Voldemort did, only a few feet from the door.

 

“I trust that you’ll work to set up a proper government?” Voldemort asked.  He wasn’t looking at Lucius, but was rather staring off into the distance.

 

“That depends.  What sort of government would you like me to set up?” Lucius had never imagined that he would be given the chance to have such authority ever again, after his mistake with his Lord’s diary in Potter’s second year.

 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes.  “One that I won’t be expected to run.  One that I have a say in, but not one where I have to manage the ins and outs of everything.”  He let out a small laugh.  “I suppose I’m asking you to set up a brand new, proper Ministry for Magic.  One that we control, with departments that we value, with our prominent members in positions of authority.  But do try to keep Greyback away from the children.”

 

“And would you like to be Minister, my Lord?” Lucius asked.  “Since I assume that you don’t want to go to popular elections.”

 

Voldemort’s smile was just a touch vicious.  “Not at all, Lucius,” he said.  “My being the public face of our new Ministry is just asking for another country to target us.”  He chuckled a little, the sound dark enough to feel like a threat.  “No, Lucius, I think you’d make a fitting Minister.  At least for our first attempt.”

 

Lucius was starting to think that perhaps his Lord wasn’t honoring him at all with this new position.  He summoned up a sickly smile.  “Then I suppose I’d better make it an excellent attempt.”

 

He returned to their meeting room feeling like he’d just had a target painted on his back.  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling at all, but he supposed it was better than being in Azkaban.  If only just a little bit.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort drew in a deep breath, telling himself that there was no need to be nervous as he did so.  Harry was still unconscious, after all.  Sure, Draco would be there, had been there since Harry had been injured, but he had no reason to be nervous around the blonde.  

 

He slipped into the room without knocking, to find Draco sitting by Harry’s bed, as he’d suspected.  Harry was still unconscious, but the angry red scarring on his throat had faded just enough so that the injury didn’t look fresh anymore.  It didn’t look like blood.

 

“Has he woken at all?” he asked by way of announcing his presence.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know the answer, like Narcissa hadn’t informed him of everything before he’d entered the room, but it seemed like a good way to start the conversation.

 

“No,” Draco responded, his voice soft.  “But Mother says that he’s going to make a full recovery.  His voice might be a bit raspy, but other than that, he should be fine.”

 

Voldemort had already heard, but it was still a relief to hear again.  “I’m glad,” he said quietly.

 

Draco swallowed, the sound loud in the mostly-quiet room.  “My Lord, can I ask you a question?” he asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly.  His fingers had gone white-knuckled around Harry’s.

 

“What is it?”  Voldemort stepped closer.

 

“Are you going to take him from me?”  The words tumbled out, and Draco immediately ducked his head, his shoulders coming up defensively.  He was frightened, Voldemort realized.

 

“For allowing him to be injured again?” Voldemort asked.  “As furious as I was, that was an accident.  I can’t punish you for failing to protect him when I also wasn’t there.  You did everything that you could.”

 

Rather than reassuring the blonde, his shoulders instead hunched up even further.  He probably didn’t even realize that he was doing it.  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Draco muttered.  “I meant… you know, romantically.  Will you be taking him from me romantically?”

 

“Will I be—”  Voldemort shook his head.  “I’m sorry, child, have you lost your mind?”  He laughed a little.  “Harry very clearly loves you, and I would never do anything to hurt him.  I may be a selfish person, but the last thing I want is to hurt Harry.”

 

“But he loves you too,” Draco muttered.  He was still staring down at Harry’s bed, as though it was making the conversation easier for him.  Maybe it was, as Voldemort was well aware that his red eyes could be intimidating.  “He loves you so much that he…”  Draco cut off and shook his head.

 

“Even if what you say is true, and I don’t know that it is, Harry is still a child,” Voldemort finally said, quietly.  “And I’m very much not.  It would hardly be appropriate.”

 

“He’s young,” Draco agreed with a nod.  “But he’s not so young as all that.  And I think he’d be incredibly offended to know that you’re holding his age against him.”

 

Voldemort didn’t know quite how to respond to that.  It was true that Harry was sixteen, and that he’d been through far more than any other sixteen year old that Voldemort had known.  But he was fragile, and vulnerable, and it still didn’t change the fact that he clearly loved Draco.  In fact, Voldemort was certain that Harry would be quite lost without him.

 

He opened his mouth to say so, but was interrupted by a hoarse, “Fuck you both.”

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

The first thing that Harry heard were two familiar voices, and he almost smiled to hear them both at the same time.  Then, as he made his way slowly towards consciousness, he realized what they were talking about.  Him.  His feelings.  Which one of them was going to… to keep him?  Whether Voldemort would take him, whether Draco would give him up.

 

“Fuck you both,” he said, before he could rethink what he was saying.  His voice came out as a harsh croak, but judging by the expressions on their faces when he put his glasses on, his message had come across loud and clear.  “I’m not some toy for you two to give away,” he snarled.

 

Draco opened his mouth, and Harry felt a flash of rage.  He grabbed the thing closest to his hand, a glass that probably had water in it, and flung it at Draco’s head.  He was sick and tired of people trying to control his life, trying to decide what was best for him!

 

He grabbed something else, a heavy book, and flung it at Voldemort’s flabbergasted face.  “I can make my own decisions!” he yelled.  He reached for something else, his hands shaking with the effort, when the door slammed open.

 

Narcissa stormed into the room, her eyes sparking in fury.  “Both of you, out,” she snarled at Voldemort and at Draco.  “I won’t have the two of you upsetting my patient.  So you’ll leave until Harry decides that you can come back.”

 

Voldemort opened his mouth, maybe to protest or perhaps to apologize, and Narcissa whipped out her wand and pointed it at him.  “You did give me unlimited authority within these halls, my Lord,” she said, the words sounding like a threat.

 

Voldemort closed his mouth with a small snap, swept into a low bow, then turned and left the room.  Draco nodded once, then turned and left as well.  The room was silent without them, but Harry was okay with that.

 

“Sorry for losing my temper,” he croaked out.

 

Narcissa just tutted quietly at him.  “I don’t know what they were talking about, but my monitoring spells on you told me that you were quite furious.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but stopped when she held up a hand.  “Let me look at your throat before you try talking again.  You’re going to be fine, Harry, but you might need to be quiet for some time more.”

 

Harry let out a soundless sigh and slumped back into his pillows.  Waking up was supposed to be a good thing, and now he was losing his voice.  It felt like just one more way people were trying to take control of himself away from him.


	45. Chapter Forty-Four - The Doghouse

 

Draco wasn’t accustomed to having things flung at his head, especially not by Harry, who had never acted in violence towards him since they’d first become friends. To have it happen now, when they were together, in love, at least mostly…

 

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound a little incredulous. “Well, that went well,” he muttered.

 

“This is your fault!” Voldemort hissed at him, his red eyes narrowed. “If you hadn’t chosen to bring up my relationship with the boy, everything would have been fine!”

 

Draco didn’t dare roll his eyes, because he wasn’t inclined to be cursed. Instead, as calmly as he could, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Of course it was, my Lord.” Then he winced, because that hadn’t sounded nearly as sincere as he would have liked.

 

“You dare patronize me?” Voldemort spat.  _ “Crucio!” _

 

The curse arched towards him, and Draco’s training with Ares kicked in. Before he could even really think about what he was doing, he’d dodged out of the way. The curse landed harmlessly on the wall, next to a portrait of a woman, who shrieked and fled her painting.

 

Draco spun around and glared at Voldemort, his rage rising. “You know, if you’d just gotten your head out of your ass sooner than this, we wouldn’t be having this problem to begin with!” He took one step forward, his hand straying towards his wand. “And now Harry’s furious with both of us, because you have the emotional intelligence of an infant!”

 

Voldemort’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his fingers clenching and unclenching around his wand.

 

Draco got a little dizzy when he realized what he’d done, all of the blood rushing from his face. “M-my Lord,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean, I mean, that is to say, I’m sorry.” He bit his lip and ducked his head, bracing himself for the curse that was sure to be thrown his way.

 

This time, he had the feeling he wouldn’t successfully dodge it.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort knew that he should be responding, that he should punish the Malfoy brat for his gall, but though he could mouth the words of one of his favorite curses, he found himself quite unable to speak them. And, unfortunately, wordless magic had never been one of his specialities. 

 

Instead, he found that he felt his cheeks heating up ever so slightly because, quite frankly, the Malfoy brat had been rather… handsome, when he’d been standing up to him. It wasn’t a feeling that Voldemort was used to, being put in his place. Most people didn’t dare argue with him anymore, mostly because most people were rather attached to neither being tortured nor killed. 

 

And even now, it was obvious that Draco was regretting his hasty words, given the submissive way he bowed his head. The stance looked wrong on him, Voldemort found, and hated himself just a little bit more for even thinking it.

 

What kind of a man was he, to lust after yet another boy… no, young man, who was already in a relationship? He should be ashamed of himself, and though Voldemort didn’t often bow to conventional morality, he found that this time, he truly was ashamed.

 

He said nothing to Draco, but instead turned on his heel and stormed off, his robes billowing behind him. He fixed his face into a fearsome scowl, so that none who ran into him would be foolish enough to stop him, and headed in the general direction of his office.

 

No one did stop him, but on the way there, a painted woman caught up to him, the same one that had fled the scene of his argument with Draco. “Bit of a coward, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice smug.

 

Voldemort spun and glared at the painted woman, then raised his wand and blasted the painting she’d stopped in off the wall. It fell to the ground in tatters, and Voldemort blasted it again, just for the sake of destroying something.

 

It didn’t help nearly as much as he thought it would, and so he stormed off once more. He would sate his anger on something, whether it was paperwork, or perhaps inanimate objects in his office. Or, perhaps if he was very lucky, one of his Death Eaters would have made a terrible mistake. And then, in that case, he could calm himself through torturing someone else.

 

Unfortunately, Voldemort felt as though he hadn’t been lucky for quite some time, not in any way that truly mattered. He had the feeling that he would have to make do with inanimate objects.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco stood with his head bowed until the steps retreated, then he drew in a deep, shaky breath. He’d never before felt particularly lucky, but in that moment, he genuinely felt as though he’d taken Felix Felicis. Surely there was no other way he could have been lucky enough to defy Voldemort and not be punished for his troubles.

 

Once he was sure that Voldemort had left, he turned and left in the opposite direction, not willing to test his luck by going the same way and potentially running into the Dark Lord once more. He headed outside, instead, where Voldemort rarely ventured, and wandered a bit aimlessly, trying to decide what to do, and to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

 

He just wanted what was best for Harry, and he didn’t quite understand why that was as wrong as it was. And, besides, whether or not Harry loved him, Draco knew that he loved Voldemort as well. He’d seen the way Harry stared at him. Wasn’t it his job, as Harry’s friend and boyfriend, to make sure that he was truly happy?

 

“Heavy thoughts?” a voice called from a little bit above him.

  
Draco looked up, and found Ron on a broom, drifting lazily up above. Ron tossed a Quaffle down at him, and Draco caught it easily. “Had a fight with Harry,” Draco said slowly, because he supposed if he was going to talk to anyone about it, the person who’d known Harry the longest might be a good place to start.

 

“Yeah?” Ron drifted closer, and caught the Quaffle when Draco threw it back at him. “Need to talk about it?”

 

Draco hesitated, not entirely sure that it was the best idea, but then shrugged. Ron really was probably the best person to try and talk about the fight with, if he was going to talk about it with anyone. “He woke up to hear Voldemort and I discussing which one of us would be better for him to stay with.”

 

Ron winced. “Really?” he asked, his eyebrows rising. He hopped off his broom and crossed his arms, staring at Draco like he’d lost his mind. “Why would you even be talking about that where he could overhear?” Then, before Draco could answer, he shook his head and held up his hand. “Wait, no, stop. Why would you be talking about that at all?”

 

Draco shrugged. “Because it’s a conversation that we needed to have?” He looked down at the ground. “Because a blind man could see how Harry feels about the Dark Lord, and how he feels about Harry in return, and maybe I was tired of waiting to see how long I’d have to be with Harry before the two of them run off together.”

 

“Bit unfair to Harry, isn’t that?” Ron asked. He reached out and patted Draco on the shoulder, and Draco flinched at the unexpected contact. “Don’t you think enough people have been trying to decide what to do with Harry’s life for him? He deserves a say in his own life, and maybe that is a conversation that you and the Dark Lord need to have, but I think it’s one you need to have with Harry, rather than about him.”

 

Draco closed his eyes as realization dawned. With Harry, not about him. That… that made sense, more sense than Harry’s screaming had, but maybe that was because he’d been panicking at having upset him rather than listening to why he was upset.

 

Merlin, he was an idiot.

 

“Thank you,” he breathed. He smiled at Ron, a quick thing, and then turned on his heel and fled back into the castle. He had to apologize, because Ron was right, and Harry had also been right. He just hoped that Harry was ready to hear his apology.

 

He heard a shouted, “Good luck!” and waved a hand in acknowledgment, but didn’t slow down. He was pretty sure that Ron understood.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“How is your throat feeling?”

 

Harry sighed and took another sip of his water, which was laced with some kind of potion or another. Narcissa had explained, but Harry had barely paid attention. What did it matter? Either it would help his throat or it wouldn’t.

 

“Harry?” Severus prompted.

 

Harry winced. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. It wasn’t as bad as it had been when he’d first woken up, but it wasn’t exactly great, either. And his throat still hurt. Again, not as badly, but still. He hated that he hadn’t managed to get out of the way of the curse that had taken him down. Hadn’t he once been good at Defense Against the Dark Arts? Hadn’t he once been thought of as a hero?

 

Some kind of hero he was.

 

“Not being able to dodge wasn’t your fault,” Severus said quietly. “And your throat will be fine in time, I believe. Narcissa has me brewing a special scar reducer that we think will have great effect on…”

 

He continued to talk, but Harry stopped paying attention. It would fix his throat, probably. He wasn’t going to die, anyway, and at least this scar wasn’t an impossible one. Maybe, when it was healed, it would be more striking than his lightning bolt, and people would stop looking at that one. Not that he wanted anyone to look at any of his scars. He hated being stared at.

 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that about you sooner,” Severus said, and Harry realized that he’d spoken out loud.

 

He groaned and flopped back into the hospital bed, smothering his face with a pillow. “Go away,” he mumbled into the pillowcase.

 

“If you insist,” Severus said, a hint of laughter in his voice. There was the sound of the door opening and closing, then silence.

 

Harry relaxed, and drew in a deep, soothing breath. He was fine. He was alone, and he missed Draco, and he was allowed to miss him and be mad at him at the same time. His breath hitched a little, and he buried his face more stubbornly in the pillow. He wasn’t going to cry about this. He was fine, this was fine, everything was fine.

 

Even if Draco had been trying to give him away, everything was fine. Even if Draco didn’t understand how much Harry loved him, how much Harry needed him, no matter what he felt for Voldemort, everything was fine.

 

The door slammed open, startling Harry. He sat up, and found Draco in front of him, panting for breath, his cheeks flushed with exertion. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Draco blurted out, “I’m sorry!”

 

Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat that had nothing to do with the curse he’d experienced. “What for?” He had to know that Draco was apologizing for the right thing.

 

“For not asking you what you wanted, for assuming that I know best,” Draco said quickly. “There’s been too much of that in your life, I know, and I’m sorry that I tried to do the same thing that others have done. I just… I want you to be happy, and if that happiness doesn’t involve me—”

 

“But it does!” Harry cried. He shifted in the bed, reaching towards Draco, and was relieved to have his hand caught and held. He tugged, and Draco settled on the bed next to him. “I love you, and I need you, and yes, I might love Voldemort too, but that doesn’t change that I love you, and I don’t want you to leave me or give me away!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed again, and pulled Harry into his arms. Harry went willingly, and sagged against him. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

 

Harry leaned up and stole a quick kiss from Draco, their lips barely brushing together. “I forgive you,” he whispered, his throat still hoarse, the words harder to get out around the lump in his throat. “I forgive you, but you have to promise to never try and decide what will make me happy for me ever again.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Draco said, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

Harry let himself relax all the way in Draco’s arms, his eyes fluttering closed. That was all he could expect, was for Draco to try his best. And it was all he needed.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort, who had successfully calmed himself down without torturing anyone, watched as Draco and Harry made up from the door to the infirmary, which stood ajar after Draco’s presumably dramatic entrance. He hadn’t caught that, but he’d caught the aftermath.

 

It was good that they’d made up, he told himself, ignoring the disappointment that wanted to fester inside of him. It was good that they were going to stay together, because what would he do with a boyfriend, or a lover, or anything like that? No, he was far too busy with the new government that was being created. And, besides, he was far too old for both of them.

 

He turned and left, without either boy having noticed that he was there. Perhaps that was a potential solution. If he left, if he focused on his work rather than on Harry, perhaps the boy’s silly infatuation with him would fade. Perhaps his own would as well.

 

Yes, that was the best possible solution for everyone involved.

 

He found Severus in his lab, focusing intently on a potion. From the smell of it, it was likely a specialty one for Harry’s throat. Given that it was for Harry, Voldemort chose to wait until he’d paused in his stirring to announce his presence.

 

“I’m leaving Hogwarts for a time,” he said, as soon as Severus had lowered the stirring rod.

 

Severus jumped, much to Voldemort’s amusement. “Of course, my Lord,” he said quickly. He turned and bowed. “My apologies for not noticing you sooner.”

 

Voldemort waved it off. “It’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t want to interrupt your potion. I’ll be going to the Ministry, to work with Lucius on the formation of the new government. You’ll be in charge here, Severus, and I expect you to keep the children well in hand. If you have any troubles, I expect you to tell me immediately.”

 

While Severus stammered out a startled affirmative, Voldemort turned and left, not bothering to wait to hear anything else. He would be gone from the castle within the hour, and would try not to return for some time. Perhaps long enough for whatever form of puppy love had taken over Harry to fade.

 

It was for the best, really.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“You do love him, though,” Draco said.

 

Harry sighed and nestled closer to Draco, who he’d coaxed into the bed with him. “I do,” he said, giving up on trying to dissuade him from having the conversation. “But I would never hurt you by cheating or anything like that,” he added quickly, the words tripping over themselves.

 

“I know,” Draco replied, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

Harry leaned into it with a small smile and let his eyes fall closed. “Good,” he mumbled.

 

“But it wouldn’t necessarily be cheating if I gave you permission to be with him,” Draco continued.

 

Harry went still, his breath catching. That sounded… it sounded… he could have… was Draco saying that, theoretically, Harry could have both of them? It was too good to be true, and Harry was tired of trusting anything that was too good. After all, he’d once thought that Hogwarts had seemed too good to be true, and Dumbledore too, and it had turned out he’d been right.

 

“Harry, what are you thinking?” Draco prompted gently.

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want anything to hurt my relationship with you,” he said finally. “And you’re afraid of him. That wouldn’t be fair.” That was the least of the problems that could arise from what Draco was proposing. If Voldemort grew jealous, and he tortured Draco, while they were… then…

 

“We’d just have to make it clear that he wouldn’t be able to do that,” Draco said softly, and Harry sighed, because he hadn’t meant to speak aloud again. “We’ll make it clear so that, in our relationship, Voldemort isn’t our Dark Lord. He’d just be your boyfriend.”

 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure that it would work that way, but… “If he could agree to that,” he said slowly. “And if you really wouldn’t mind, then… then I’d like to try.” He buried his head in Draco’s shoulder, then, and didn’t move, no matter how much Draco prodded him.

 

Eventually, Draco just kissed his forehead once more and murmured, “Okay.” And they sat in silence, and Harry was happy with that.


	46. Chapter Forty-Five - Cat and Mouse

 

Magic, Harry mused as he was examined by Narcissa prior to his release from her care, was truly a wonderful thing. In the Muggle world, an injury such as the one he’d sustained would likely have rendered him mute, and he definitely wouldn’t have been able to leave the hospital for at least a week or so, if not longer.

 

But because of magic, his throat was mostly healed. He still had to keep rubbing the scar reducer on the outside of his throat, and he had to continue taking the potion that would heal the inside of his throat, but for the most part, he was fine. His voice might be a little hoarse for the rest of his life, they still weren’t sure, but that was a small price to pay for surviving what could have easily been a fatal curse.

 

“I think you’re free to go,” Narcissa said, cheer making her voice bright. “I have to say, Harry, as much as I don’t mind your company, I’d really prefer it if you manage to avoid my care for at least a few weeks. You know, if you could just give me some time to pay attention to some of my other patients.”

 

Harry couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. “I’ll try,” he said, and smiled at her. He really did like Draco’s mother, and was glad that she seemed to like him in return.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Draco said quickly. 

 

Harry smiled up at him, too. “He’ll try,” he said, and winked at Narcissa. Then he slid out of bed and stumbled. Draco caught him easily, and Harry added to his previous statement, “He’ll probably succeed.”

 

Narcissa snorted and shook her head. “Off with the both of you,” she said, and waved them away. “I have actual work to do, and you both tend to take up my attention.”

 

Harry beamed at her, then linked his hand with Draco’s and tugged on it until they’d left the infirmary, Draco stumbling along behind him, laughing the whole way. “What are you in such a rush for?” Draco asked once they’d made it out into the hallway.

 

Harry turned to smile at him. “For one thing, I didn’t want her to change her mind about letting me go,” he said. “And for another, I’d like to go find Voldemort so that we can have that conversation we were talking about.”

 

He was rewarded for his bluntness by a slight blush rising in Draco’s cheeks. Harry wondered if Draco even realized he was doing it, or if he realized that he was giving every indication of being attracted to Voldemort as well.

 

Draco’s hand flew to his cheeks and he spluttered, “I am absolutely not attracted to Voldemort!”

 

Normally, Harry hated it when he forgot to keep his thoughts to himself, but this time, he found Draco’s reaction far too entertaining to be worried about the fact that he’d spoke when he hadn’t meant to. “Of course not,” he teased.

 

Draco huffed and looked away, his cheeks still pink. “Well, let’s go find him, then,” he muttered, and stalked off, his other hand still held in Harry’s.

 

Harry stumbled after him, laughing, and let himself be led through the halls of Hogwarts. There were only so many places that Voldemort could be, and it wouldn’t take them long to narrow them down. At least, that was what Harry had thought.

  
But he wasn’t in the Great Hall, nor did he seem to be in the dungeons. His office looked empty, and his rooms didn’t feel as though they had been occupied any time recently. The bed was perfectly made, but the closet door stood ajar and seemed to be mostly empty. It almost felt… abandoned. 

 

Harry frowned. “Where did he go?” he asked, looking to Draco.

 

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But Severus might. I’ll go ask him. Do you want to come with me?”

 

Harry hesitated. “I suppose I should,” he said quietly. All his earlier joy had left him. Where had Voldemort gone, and why had he left? Had Harry done something wrong? The thought was terrifying. What if… what if he was just… maybe Harry had made him angry with that temper tantrum, and he would never come back. Maybe…

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Draco murmured, pulling him into a warm hug.

 

Harry let himself believe it, at least until they spoke to Severus. But when Severus told them that Voldemort was gone, that he’d left for the foreseeable future to work with the newly-forming government, Harry felt that belief disappearing. It wasn’t going to be okay.

 

He’d ruined everything.

 

“We’ll write to him,” Draco was whispering to him, once they were back in the privacy of their rooms. Theirs, because Voldemort was gone, so they weren’t even Voldemort’s and theirs. “We’ll tell him what we need to tell him in letter form, and he’ll come back, and everything will be fine. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Harry, I promise.”

 

Harry just sighed and settled on the couch. He didn’t believe that it would work, but he would write the letter with Draco. If nothing else, at least he could say that he’d tried. And, besides, it wasn’t such a bad thing to be with Draco only for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like he didn’t love Draco. He wasn’t greedy, he’d just… he’d just started to think that maybe he could have them both.

 

What a fool he was.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

It had been less than a week since he’d arrived at the Ministry, and Voldemort was highly entertained by Lucius’ irritation with him, mostly because the oldest Malfoy wasn’t particularly good at hiding his ire. It wasn’t that he was enjoying driving the elder Malfoy to distraction, it was just that it was a hilarious side effect of his presence, and of the constant questions that he was asking.

 

“Are you sure that’s the best way to set up our law enforcement system?” Voldemort asked idly into the silence that had fallen during the course of the meeting.

 

Through gritted teeth, Lucius asked, “Do you have any suggestions you’d like to give us, my Lord?”

 

Voldemort bit back a laugh. “No, no,” he said breezily. “I’m just not sure that I’d use that particular format for our newer departments, that’s all.”

 

Lucius made a sound that might have been comparable to Fenrir’s best growl. “Then, if my Lord has nothing more to contribute, I’d like to move on to discussing who we’d like to head up our new law enforcement division.”

 

Voldemort tuned them out again, and only began paying attention when someone slipped into the room, one of the couriers that was delivering mail to the forming Ministry. This particular courier headed straight for him, and dropped into a nervous bow as soon as Voldemort’s eyes landed on him.

 

“My Lord, I have a letter for you from Hogwarts,” the courier said, his voice shaking.

 

“Thank you,” Voldemort replied, and took the letter.

 

He opened it and scanned it without dismissing the courier. If it needed a reply… it was from Harry, asking him when he was going to return to Hogwarts. Apparently he and Draco had something they urgently needed to discuss with him.

 

As though Voldemort were stupid. As though he didn’t know exactly what was on the boys’ minds. He wasn’t about to return to the castle so that he could be heartbroken. Not that he was that emotionally invested in either of them, or anything like that. But he was quite busy with the forming of the new government, and he didn’t have time to go back to Hogwarts.

 

That was all it was. He certainly wasn’t being a coward, hiding from them.

 

He wrote back to them something entirely untrue about being far too busy to take a trip to Hogwarts at the moment, and apologizing with little in the way of genuine sincerity. He ended his letter by wishing Harry and Draco well, which had the benefit of being true, and sent it off with the courier.

 

He then put the letter out of his mind, and went back to needling Lucius in whatever new way he could think of. Starting with, “Do you really think our law enforcement officers need to wear uniforms?” Since the conversation he interrupted had nothing to do with uniforms, he got a particularly satisfying growl from Lucius.

 

He was going to have to start cataloguing them…

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry wished that he’d been surprised by the letter that they received from Voldemort only a day after sending their own. It was written hastily, with blots of ink obscuring some of the letters, but the message was clear enough.

 

Voldemort was busy, and wouldn’t be coming back to Hogwarts anytime soon. Harry really had ruined everything.

 

“Harry, are you okay?” Draco asked softly after Harry settled the letter on the table.

 

Was he okay? How could he be okay? Maybe if he’d been nicer when he’d woken up this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Voldemort wouldn’t have left them. Harry hadn’t realized how much he needed Voldemort to be there until he was no longer available, and now there was nothing for him to do.

 

“Harry, I need you to answer me,” Draco murmured. His hand landed on Harry’s cheek, and Harry tilted his head into it. “Tell me that you’re okay, please.”

 

Harry just shook his head. “I’m going to go lie down,” he murmured. He stood, only to be tugged into Draco’s arms.

 

“We can write him another letter,” Draco whispered. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, and Harry leaned into the touch. “It’s going to be fine.”

 

“If he didn’t listen to the first, I doubt he’ll listen to another,” Harry muttered. He pulled out of Draco’s arms and went up to their shared room, and collapsed into his bed. When Draco came up after him, settled on the bed next to him, Harry rolled over and away from him, putting his back to him. “Leave me alone.”

 

He didn’t mean to be a brat to Draco, he just… he was sad, and he’d wanted Voldemort to come back so badly, and now it wasn’t going to happen. He just needed time to deal with it, that was all. He’d be okay once he got his expectations under control.

 

“Okay, Harry,” Draco murmured. Harry rolled over a little bit at Draco’s prompting, and closed his eyes when Draco kissed him softly. “Okay. I’ll let you be for a little bit, and in the meantime, I’m going to fix this. I promise.”

 

Harry smiled, the expression sad. “I don’t think you can,” he whispered. “But thank you for trying.”

 

Draco’s eyes glinted, though Harry wasn’t sure what emotion was causing it. “I’ll do more than try,” he said, and kissed Harry once more. Then he pulled back. “You’re sure you want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

 

Harry nodded, and rolled onto his side once more, putting his back to the door. He heard the door open and close, and Harry knew that he was alone in the room. Even though he’d asked for it, it didn’t feel quite like he’d hoped it would.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco fumed as he stormed off towards Severus’ office. Voldemort thought that he could just walk away, that he could just leave Harry to be upset and everything would be fine? Oh, he was so very, very wrong, and Draco was going to make absolutely sure that he knew exactly how wrong he was. How dare he?

 

After all that he’d spouted about wanting what was best for Harry, he turned around and did this? No, no, absolutely not. Draco wasn’t going to stand for this.

 

He burst into Severus’ office, to be met by raised eyebrows from both him and Remus, who was grading papers. “I’m leaving,” he announced, without waiting for Severus to say anything.

 

“And where are you going in such a hurry?” Severus asked. He put his quill down and stared at Draco expectantly.

 

“I’m going to the Ministry, to have a word with Voldemort.” Draco knew that even saying it out loud was crazy, much less going to do it, but he wasn’t going to let that idiot of a man break Harry’s heart anymore. “So if you could keep an eye on Harry for me, I’d greatly appreciate it,” he continued before Severus could raise any objections.

 

“Are you sure this is wise?” Remus asked, his voice mild.

 

“No,” Draco replied with a small shrug. “But I’m going to do it anyway. So, you know, help me out and keep an eye on Harry for me. He’s in our room, sleeping. I don’t know how long it will take me to get back to him.”

 

“Assuming you’re even allowed to come back,” Severus pointed out. “Draco, I really don’t think that going to see the Dark Lord in the mood that you’re in is a good idea.”

 

Draco knew that it wasn’t, but he also knew that he was going to do it anyway. “I have to do something,” he said. “You didn’t see Harry’s face when he read that bullshit letter that Voldemort sent back to us. He’s heartbroken, and I refuse to let him stay that way if I can do anything about it.”

 

Severus sighed. “Well, good luck then. Remus and I will wait in your sitting room, and hopefully you’ll return in one piece.”

 

Draco smirked, then turned on his heel and left the room. He was going to come back, because Voldemort would never hurt Harry by permanently damaging him. He might be tortured a little, but if Voldemort would come back and Harry were happy, it would probably be worth it. As long as a little wasn’t a lot, at least.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

This meeting, the third in as many days, was painfully boring. It wasn’t that it wasn’t important, because taxes were incredibly important, it was just that Voldemort found that he didn’t care. He supposed it was awful of him, but now that he’d gained control of the government, he found the idea of running it to be absolutely exhausting.

 

Maybe he should have rethought the whole “taking over the world” thing before he’d actually reached his goals, because this wasn’t turning out at all as he’d expected it would. Especially since Lucius was proving to be more than competent at setting up his new world, which really did make him more than a little redundant.

 

The door to their conference room slammed open, and when Voldemort turned to look, he found Draco Malfoy standing there, his eyes wild, his wand clenched in his fist, his grip white-knuckled.

 

“Draco,” Lucius began.

 

Draco ignored him, and began stalking towards Voldemort, each step careful and deliberate. “Listen here, you sorry excuse for a Dark Lord,” he snarled. “You made Harry cry, so I hope you’re proud of yourself!”

 

“Just who do you think you’re talking to?” Voldemort asked, his eyes widening in shock. He stood up, and drew his own wand.

 

“I think I’m talking to a coward, who runs away rather than facing two teenagers!” Draco shot back. “And I’ve come to drag you back to Hogwarts so that you can face your fate like the man you pretend to be!”

 

_ “Crucio!” _ Voldemort snapped out, before he could stop to think about what he was doing. The red light shot towards Draco.

 

Draco ducked out of the way and snapped out,  _ “Reducto!” _

 

Voldemort was so startled that the brat had actually fought back that he almost let the curse hit him, but threw a book in the way of it just before it could with a summoning charm. “You insolent little—” He shook his head.  _ “Diffindo!” _

 

Draco dodged again. “I could do this all day, my Lord, or don’t you remember assigning me to battle training?” And then, before Voldemort could think of another curse to throw that wouldn’t actually maim the brat, Draco shouted,  _ “Expelliarmus!” _

 

His wand shot out of his hand, and Voldemort stared at him, incredulous. The brat had beaten him. Granted, he hadn’t put as much into it as he could have, but… but he’d been beaten by a teenager. “Give me my wand back,” he demanded, without thinking about it.

 

Draco just smirked at him, an expression that was far too attractive on his face. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that,” he said cheerfully. “Not until you agree to come back to Hogwarts with me. Because, like we said in our letter, Harry and I need to talk to you, and this running and hiding thing is terribly unattractive.”

 

Did that mean that Draco found him attractive at other times? Voldemort shook the thought off, thankfully without actually shaking his head. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “Lucius seems to have things well in hand here, anyway. I was planning on going back to Hogwarts very soon.”

 

Draco just raised an eyebrow at him. “Then you’ll have no problems coming back with me right this moment, will you, my Lord?” The snarky emphasis he put on the title just made him all the more enticing.

 

Voldemort sighed and nodded, and hoped that he wasn’t as doomed as he felt like he might be. At least he was leaving before any of his senior Death Eaters could comment on the fact that he’d gotten his ass handed to him by a teenager.


	47. Chapter Forty-Six - Triad

 

Voldemort considered trying to pull away as Draco dragged him along, but he wouldn’t be able to do it without hurting Draco. And, as irritated as he was that the boy had beaten him at a duel, he didn’t particularly want to injure him by trying to pull away from him. So, as undignified as it was to be dragged through his own castle by the hand, Voldemort didn’t attempt to pull away from him.

 

They made their way through the castle and up to their suite of rooms, where Severus and Remus were sitting in the common area, Remus with a book and Severus pacing. Voldemort was mildly amused to note that the book was upside down, and no pages were being turned. Harry was nowhere to be seen. But then, given how angry Draco had been with him, that wasn’t a surprise. Harry was likely in his room, nursing his hurt feelings.

 

And, oh, Voldemort hated the feeling of guilt that swelled within him. If Draco was to be believed, he’d done that. Once upon a time, Voldemort wouldn’t have cared about upsetting anyone, but Harry had wormed his way past all of his protections, and the guilt that Voldemort was currently feeling almost made him feel sick.

 

Lovely.

 

“My Lord,” Severus said quietly into the awkward silence that fell as soon as they stopped moving. “Harry hasn’t attempted to leave his and Draco’s room, and we haven’t heard any alarming sounds from upstairs.”

 

“Depending on what you call alarming,” Remus muttered. He glanced at Voldemort, fire and threat in his eyes, then dropped his gaze in a show of deference.

 

Voldemort would be offended at the obvious disrespect in Remus’ voice, but instead he chose to focus on what he’d said. “What have you heard?” he asked.

 

“Harry’s been crying,” Remus replied. His lip curled ever so slightly into something that might have been a snarl, but he smoothed the expression over with some obvious effort. “I asked him if he would mind if I came up to speak with him, and he threw something down the stairs. I took that to mean that he was uninterested in company.”

 

“Thank you for staying here with him,” Draco said quietly. He offered Remus and Severus a smile, then shot a positively venomous look in Voldemort’s direction. “Would you care to go up first, my Lord?” he asked, with faux sweetness.

 

Voldemort didn’t get the impression that he was being given an actual choice. “Not particularly,” he said dryly. Then he drew in a deep breath anyway and started forward. “You’re both dismissed, by the way,” he added casually to Remus and Severus.

 

If Harry was going to curse him, or if Draco and Harry were both going to yell at him, he would really rather that there be no one around to hear it. It was embarrassing enough that Draco had defeated him in a duel; he didn’t need to add to that by letting others witness what was surely going to be an uncomfortable conversation. Even if those witnesses would only be hearing rather than seeing.

 

Severus dipped into a bow and practically had to drag Remus out of the room.

 

“I’m waiting on you, my Lord,” Draco said, still in that saccharine tone that promised violence if Voldemort didn’t start moving.

 

Really, perhaps Voldemort needed to have a conversation with Narcissa himself. That tone of voice shouldn’t be so appealing to him, he knew that. He should be furious that Draco was talking to him like that, but instead…

 

Well, he wasn’t, and that was all he would say about it. 

 

He reluctantly started towards the stairs, torn between not wanting to see Harry when the boy was probably quite upset with him and wanting to soothe any hurt he may have caused. If Draco was to be believed, and if Remus and Severus were, he’d made Harry cry, something that he’d wanted to avoid doing. Part of him wanted to claim that it wasn’t his fault, but he really had just run away like a coward.

 

He stopped upon entering Harry’s room, wincing at the small sniffles that came from the miserable figure curled up in Harry’s bed. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could, a pillow was flung in the general direction of the door.

 

“Go away,” Harry said, his voice hoarse with tears.

 

“If you’d like me to,” Voldemort said, and immediately turned around. It may be taking the easy way out, but no one had ever accused him of doing anything but.

 

“Wait!” Voldemort turned just in time to see Harry scrambling into a sitting position, wiping the tears from his eyes using the sleeve of his robe. “Please don’t go,” Harry added, his words imploring.

 

He looked so very hopeful, and Voldemort found that he was quite helpless to resist that expression. “Of course I won’t,” he said, and moved further into the room. Behind him, Draco closed the door, and it made an ominous click. Voldemort couldn’t help but feel as though he’d walked into a trap.

 

“He says that, but it’s not like he didn’t leave me before,” Harry muttered, not looking at Voldemort as he said it.

 

Voldemort was pretty sure that Harry hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. Still, he couldn't ignore them, not when Harry looked so very sad still. “I wasn’t going to leave you forever,” he said quickly. He crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Harry, after glancing at Draco to make sure that he wasn’t going to be hexed for daring to get so close. “I just wanted to give you and Draco time to be together, alone. Without me around to bother you.”

 

“You’re not a bother,” Draco said quietly. He crossed the room as well and settled on Harry’s other side.

 

Voldemort’s lip curled into an almost-snarl. “Do you think me a fool?” he asked, the words biting and vicious. “I am an old man, and you two are very young. I know full well that there is little chance that either one of you would want—” He stopped himself.

 

He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t let himself do it. If he said it out loud…

 

He jumped when a warm hand touched his own, and he turned to find Harry’s face very close to his own. “Harry,” he started.

 

And then he stopped, because Harry’s lips, which were soft and warm, were pressing against his own, and he didn’t want to pull away or do anything that might make him stop.

 

Huh. Draco had been right, it seemed.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco watched as his boyfriend, who he loved more than anyone else in the world, kissed someone else. Part of him felt a bit jealous, but it was mostly overshadowed by the joy he felt at Harry’s getting to do something he’d been wanting to do for a small eternity. And it didn’t hurt that they didn’t make a terrible picture, either.

 

When Harry pulled back, he leaned into Voldemort and said, quietly, “We both do want you, though.”

 

Voldemort’s eyes widened, and Draco got the pleasure of seeing the Dark Lord look absolutely stunned twice in one day. “You can’t be serious,” he said, and his voice was lovely when it was just a little bit rough.

 

“We are,” Harry said. He smiled at Voldemort, the expression one of his sweeter ones. “It’s just that Draco’s a bit afraid of you, you know? Because you have power over him, and because you tend to torture people when you’re angry.”

 

“Afraid of me, is he?” Voldemort asked, one hairless brow raising. “He didn’t give much of a sign of that when he attacked me earlier today.”

 

Draco flushed and looked away. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said, a little bit weakly. That was a lie, of course. He knew exactly what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking that Voldemort shouldn’t run away from Harry, shouldn’t break his heart. He’d been furious that Harry should suffer for something so ridiculously foolish. Apparently that had been all it had taken to override his good sense and his justified fear of the Dark Lord.

 

“That’s a lie,” Voldemort said, quiet laughter in his voice. “You did it for Harry, of course.”

 

“Even so, my Lord, you would have been well within your rights to curse me for behaving that way,” Draco said with a dip of his head.

 

“Perhaps,” Voldemort murmured. When Draco looked up at him, the Dark Lord looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps I should do no such thing. If we’re to be involved in a relationship, then I shouldn’t have so much power over you. Fear, from what I understand, does not make for a healthy relationship.”

 

Draco let out a startled little squeak. “Relationship?” he echoed. “I thought that it was just Harry that you had… feelings for.”

 

“Perhaps initially that was the case,” Voldemort agreed. The bed shifted, and then Voldemort was in front of Draco, kneeling there. “But I have found that you’re quite… intriguing, especially when you’re treating me as an equal rather than as a Lord.”

 

Draco flushed as Harry leaned into him. “I didn’t realize,” he said. He didn’t know what he thought about that. Was he… did he think of Voldemort in that way? Could he ever? He’d thought it would just be he and Voldemort sharing Harry; he’d never imagined that they would also…

 

“Is the idea so abhorrent to you?” Voldemort asked. He reached up and touched Draco’s cheek.

 

Draco didn’t flinch away, but it was a near thing. “Not necessarily,” he said, still uncertain. His father would be throwing a fit right now if he were to learn that Draco was considering turning down the Dark Lord, but his father wasn’t the man who was potentially going to sleep with him at some point. “If we did this, you would have to learn to stop trying to torture me when we argue,” he said finally. That was the only way that he could see this relationship working.

 

“I might have to be reminded,” Voldemort admitted. “Sometimes I reach for my wand without thinking.”

 

“We can do that,” Harry said. He looked at Draco, his green eyes hopeful.

 

Draco closed his eyes and breathed out. “Then, I suppose, if you’re willing to try not to torture me whenever I irritate you, that we could give this a try.”

 

The words had only just left his lips when Voldemort surged up and claimed his mouth in a heated kiss. It was passionate and left Draco gasping in its wake. He stared at Voldemort through widened eyes, then watched as Voldemort seized Harry’s lips in a similar kiss, and wondered at what point, exactly, his life had become this, because in all of his dreams, he’d never imagined anything like what was happening.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry was a little concerned that things would be awkward after their first kisses had been exchanged, but to his great happiness, they really weren’t. Dinner with the three of them went much the same as it had before they’d kissed, with Voldemort listening indulgently while Harry prattled on about what he’d done while Voldemort had been gone.

 

Not that Harry had done much other than sulk, but that was fine. He could still talk about his adventures under Narcissa’s tender care, and Ron’s smuggling in of chocolate frogs to him. Voldemort had raised a slight objection to that, if only because he’d been worried that Harry’s throat might have been re-injured, but he’d let it slide after a moment’s grumbling.

 

No, the real changes came when it was time for bed, after Harry had showered and changed into his pajamas, and after Draco had done the same. Then, Voldemort quietly asked them both, “Would you care to join me tonight in my bedroom?”

 

Harry’s breath caught, and he felt a little frisson of fear and excitement. Was Voldemort asking… but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for… and was Draco? They’d never… they’d done a little bit of experimenting, of course they had, but nothing…

 

“Just to sleep,” Voldemort said quickly, and Harry was amazed to see that his cheeks got slightly pinker. He’d never known that Voldemort could blush like that. Harry wondered if he’d said any of that out loud. He supposed he’d be embarrassed if he had, but nobody said anything, so maybe he hadn’t.

 

“I’d like that,” Draco said quietly.

 

Harry would too. He waited for someone else to say something, then realized that he probably should actually say out loud that he would. “Me too,” he said, a bit shyly.

 

Voldemort smiled at them both, the expression gentler than Harry had imagined he’d ever see on Voldemort’s face, then steered them both into his bedroom.

 

It was a cold room, severe in its decoration, or lack thereof. Everything was dark, but the bed was large, and when Voldemort ushered them into it, it was warm and soft. Draco curled up on Harry’s left, and Voldemort got into bed on the right, so that Harry was in the middle.

 

It was very nice, and Harry found that he didn’t have any trouble at all falling asleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, in the time between updates, I've finally graduated with my Bachelor's degree, and I've started a job hunt. I don't know when the next update will be, but I'm hoping I'll get one in before the end of the month. Sorry about the lack of writing from me recently; I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.


	48. Chapter Forty-Seven - The Coming Summer

 

A quiet day passed, and Voldemort found himself greatly enjoying spending time with his two younger… what should he call them?  Lovers wasn’t quite accurate, aside from being entirely too soppy, and boyfriends seemed far too juvenile. The last thing he needed was to remind himself of how very young Harry and Draco were.

 

Partners, perhaps, although it was a bit premature since they’d only gotten involved romantically a day ago.

 

“Knut for your thoughts, my Lord?” Draco asked, interrupting Voldemort’s musing.

 

And Voldemort could hardly admit to wondering what he should call them, given that he was the one who was supposed to know what was going on in their relationship, could he?  “I was thinking about the school,” he replied, after a second of internal scrambling to come up with a topic.

 

Harry brightened.  He’d been toying with his soup, a distracted look on his face, but apparently this was a topic close to his heart.  “Are you going to reopen it?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

 

“I don’t know,” Voldemort replied.  He settled back in his chair, setting down his cutlery.  He’d already finished eating.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Harry asked, his eyes going from sparkling to flashing with irritation.  “You have to open a school; you can’t just let children run around without formal education! Wands are dangerous, you know, and who knows how much their parents are teaching them, or whether or not the things they’re teaching are even the right things?”

 

Voldemort held up a hand, stalling Harry’s rant before the young man could get any further.  “I know,” he said quickly. “I agree. I didn’t realize you were so passionate about it, though.”

 

Harry looked away.  “Hogwarts was a sanctuary for me,” he said, his voice going soft.  “Aside from all the chaos, and all the problems I had here, it was always better than being with the Dursleys.  And I’d imagine that’s true for many Muggleborns. For all that I’m not, technically, I was raised as one.”

 

Voldemort sighed and glanced down at his empty plate.  That was another conversation that they’d have to have, apparently.  “Harry, I don’t know that we’re going to be inviting Muggleborns to the new school,” he said gently.

 

Harry’s fingers clenched on his spoon, and he pointed it at Voldemort like it was a weapon, spraying soup.  “And why not?” he asked sharply.

 

“That is rather the foundation of the war we just won,” Draco pointed out softly, joining the conversation for the first time.

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he glanced from one of them to the other, then back.  “Then I guess I should pack my things and leave Hogwarts,” he said quickly. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, dropping his spoon with a clatter.  “Since I don’t think that’s something I can compromise on.”

 

Voldemort hissed out an irritated breath.  “Okay,” he said slowly. “Fine. We can admit Muggleborns into the new school.”  He looked away so that he couldn’t see the triumph on Harry’s face. Merlin, what kind of wizard was he, to be so easily manipulated?  “But I won’t let them return to the Muggle world during their school years.”

 

“That sounds like a fair compromise,” Harry said, to Voldemort’s surprise.  “My Muggle family... they were… not kind to me, because of my magic. And I’d bet that more Muggleborn students have stories like that than don’t.  So I think it’s probably for the best, to bring them into our world permanently.”

 

“Harry?” Draco asked quietly as Voldemort looked up.  “Would you like to talk about your relatives?”

 

Harry blinked at them both, then smiled brightly.  “So, are you going to be housing the students here, or is there someplace else you have in mind?” he asked, refusing to answer the question.

 

Part of Voldemort wanted very much to push, to find out what Harry was hiding, but the rest of him acknowledged that Harry would likely not appreciate such pushing.  So, as little as he liked the idea, he allowed the subject change. “I find that I am reluctant to open my home to students,” he said. “So no, I don’t think that it will be here.  I like my castle.”

 

Harry’s smile was sweetly understanding as he said, teasingly, “That’s awfully selfish of you, Voldemort.”

 

“It is, isn’t it?”  Voldemort smiled back, the expression gentle.  “As a Dark Lord, I believe that I’m entitled to a bit of selfishness.”

 

“There are certainly worse vices,” Draco said, looking mildly amused, a smirk toying at the edges of his lips.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Draco followed Harry out of their rooms, still mildly amused by the conversation he’d witnessed between his two partners.  Harry certainly had them both wrapped around his fingers, Merlin help them all. He’d never imagined that he would see the Dark Lord bow down on the issue of Muggleborns, but he supposed that if anyone could manage it, it would have been Harry.

 

He didn’t even realize that Harry had stopped until he almost ran into him.  “Harry?” he asked. Sometimes he still got lost in his head, something that would probably stay with him for the rest of his life.  Mother had spoken of continuing to work with him on it, but the chances of Harry actually improving at this point were fairly slim.

 

“I want to play Quidditch,” Harry said suddenly.  He turned and looked at Draco, his eyes bright. “Don’t you?  We haven’t played each other in forever!”

 

Draco laughed a little, then leaned in and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Harry’s lips.  “If you’d like to play, then we’ll find some like-minded students and start up a game,” he said softly.  He backed up a step, because they’d passed the entrance to the dungeons a few minutes before. “Or were you thinking just you and me?”

 

Harry tilted his head to one side, then, quietly, he said, “Just you and me?”  He bit his lip, like he was frightened that he’d given the wrong answer.

 

Draco just stepped forward and kissed him again, soft and sweet.  “That sounds wonderful,” he said, and took Harry’s hand. “You and me, Seekers’ match?” he suggested.

 

Harry’s smile was bright.  “That sounds good.” He tugged on Draco’s hand, pulling him in the general direction of outside, to the Quidditch Pitch.

 

They weren’t alone for long, in spite of their best intentions, and soon enough there was a full game going out on the Pitch, observed by whoever wasn’t in the air, but that was okay.  Harry was smiling, laughing, and their future looked as bright as the sun that shone overhead.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Voldemort summoned three of his Death Eaters, then waited impatiently in his office.

 

As expected, Severus and Remus arrived first.  They were already in the castle, so of course they would.  Lucius, who was likely in meetings, took a bit longer, but was still prompt in his arrival.  Once they’d assembled, and once they’d gotten the niceties out of the way, Voldemort said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about what we need to do to get a school up and running.”

 

“A proper one, you mean?” Lucius asked,.  “Not that the children aren’t doing a good job here, and not that Severus and Remus aren’t excellent in their child-wrangling abilities, but we surely need more adults involved in this endeavor.”

 

“Absolutely,” Voldemort agreed with a nod in Lucius’ direction.  “I’d like for you two to serve as co-Headmasters,” he said, nodding at Severus and Remus.

 

Severus’ expression of utter disgust was swiftly masked into an expression of neutrality.  “As my Lord commands,” he said quietly.

 

“It would be a pleasure,” Remus said, and at least he sounded like he meant it.

 

“Severus, you dislike the idea?” Voldemort asked.  “Speak your mind; you won’t be punished for it. I wouldn’t have you stuck in a position you hated for the next few decades.”

 

“With respect, my Lord, I’ve never been fond of children.  I’m happy to continue serving as Potions Master, because I know how very rare we are, but that’s the extent of my desire to serve,” Severus murmured.

 

“You could serve as my Deputy,” Remus suggested into the silence that fell.  “Not for forever, just until we sort out someone else for the position.”

 

“That I would be glad to do.”  Severus exchanged a look with Remus that Voldemort was mildly amused to see.  He’d never imagined that the day would come when his dour Potions master was besotted with a werewolf, of all things.

 

“Then that’s decided,” Voldemort said.  “The two of you are dismissed. I’ve other things to discuss with Lucius.”

 

Remus and Severus both excused themselves with low bows, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

 

“How goes our new government?” Voldemort asked once the door had closed.

 

“Shockingly well, my Lord,” Lucius said.  Then, apparently fearing Voldemort’s reaction to his glibness, he hastily added, “We’re having very little trouble keeping control.  There’s been one small uprising thus far, but it was easily quelled, and with very little in the way of casualties or property damage.  We lost no one, and their side lost only a handful of people. Those we captured will be made examples of.”

 

Voldemort nodded.  “And any word from other governments?”

 

Lucius shook his head.  “So far, my Lord, none. It seems as though they are reluctant to court war with us, given how swiftly we won our last.  By the time any country is ready to challenge our might, we’ll be more than capable of defeating them.”

 

Voldemort let a smile creep over his face, and let himself relax slightly.  It was working. He’d won, and it seemed as though he’d actually get to keep what he’d won.  Never, in his wildest dreams, had he truly imagined that he would succeed, and that he’d actually be able to keep his country once he had it.  “I’m pleased to hear that, Lucius,” he said.

 

Lucius bowed, the gesture one of deep respect.  “It brings me joy to hear you say as much, my Lord.”

 

A silent moment passed, then Voldemort sighed.  “I suppose you’ve a lot of work to do, haven’t you?”

 

“A fair amount,” Lucius agreed.  Still, he made no move to move. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my Lord?”

 

“Just begin thinking of a good place to house our new school, Lucius,” Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair.  From where he was sitting, he could see a Quidditch game going strong outside, one where both of his… partners, he supposed, were competing.  “Other than that, you’re free to go.”

 

Lucius stood and swept into a low bow.  “Thank you, my Lord. I won’t let you down.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Voldemort said, and waved the man off.  

 

Part of him wanted to go outside, to join Harry and Draco at the Pitch, but he knew that if he did so, he would scare off the ones who were playing with them.  Instead, he settled for watching them from the window, marvelling at how very lucky he’d turned out to be. 

 

Never in his wildest dreams, indeed.

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

“How are things going with you and Ron?” Pansy asked as the two of them watched the game, which had quickly turned into something truly chaotic.  There were far too many players on the field for it to be a true match, but the players all seemed to be having fun.

 

Daphne didn’t begrudge them their joy, but she wasn’t about to join them.  She hated riding a broom. She could do it, was even fairly good, but it wasn’t her passion.  Besides, she was just a little afraid of heights. “Things are going well,” she said with a small smile.  “I’m thinking of encouraging him to propose to me, as soon as it’s proper, of course.”

 

Pansy hummed consideringly.  “Are you going for proper-proper, or for fast-proper?  Because the second is approaching rapidly.”

 

Daphne considered the question.  She’d already been leaving pictures of rings out for him to find, and he seemed to be fairly receptive to the idea.  “Maybe somewhere in between,” she said finally. “I don’t want to push him too much; you know he wasn’t raised the way that we were.”

 

“That’s fair,” Pansy said.  “I was thinking about pursuing Draco, but watching how devoted he is to Harry… I think he’s going to break his father’s heart when Lucius realizes that Draco won’t be marrying a witch.”

 

“They’ll have to continue their lines in one way or another,” Daphne said.  She saw it too, of course. It wasn’t hard to see. Draco’s eyes followed Harry everywhere, and he was jealous with the other’s affections.  “It’s certainly fun to watch, isn’t it?”

 

Pansy let out a small, agreeing laugh.  “That it is.” She let out a small sigh.  “Oh, to be a fly on the wall in their bedroom…”

 

Daphne snorted.  “Draco would crush you if he caught you,” she said.  Then she sighed as well. “But, admittedly, there would be worse ways to go.”

 

ooOOooOOoo

 

Harry finished drying himself off after his shower, after washing away the sweat that came from playing Quidditch in the early spring, when it was starting to get warm.  He was more than ready for summer to come, but was significantly less ready for the heat it would bring. That was his least favorite bit. Well. Now it was his least favorite bit.

 

Before… before, it had been…

 

At least this summer he wouldn’t have to worry about going back to the Dursleys.  He shivered a little at the thought, and pulled on one of his softer, warmer robes.  He left his bedroom and found Draco on the couch downstairs, reading. He settled on the couch next to him, then tipped himself over so that his head was in Draco’s lap, startling the blonde.

 

“Hi,” Harry said, a little sleepily.  They’d played for hours outside, and he wasn’t used to that anymore.  It had been fun, but he was more than ready for a small nap. Or at least to lie here, head in Draco’s lap.

 

He could hear Voldemort in the study, humming quietly.  He didn’t know if Voldemort realized that he did it, but it was a nice sound, soft and soothing.  Draco’s hand landed in his hair, and Harry shivered and squirmed a little as Draco began to run his fingers through it, petting him gently.

 

This was good.  He was happy, in ways that he thought he never would have been if the Professor hadn’t told him the truth about Hermione, and about Ron.  He didn’t want to think about how his life would have gone if he’d stayed under Dumbledore’s thumb, but he didn’t have too, anyway.

 

He had a full, happy life ahead of him, with Draco and Voldemort both.  What more could he ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to report that I'm now gainfully employed, although I have to admit that working full time is far more exhausting than I think it will be. Still, I'm enjoying it, to some extent. Anyway, thank you all for your patience, for your words of congratulations, and for keeping me company on this ride. Just the epilogue to go; hopefully it won't take me another month.


	49. Epilogue

 

“Dad, why can’t I go on the train?” Adrian asked, and Ron felt his heart seize up for a moment.

Just for a moment, he let himself remember another little redheaded child who’d asked the same thing of his mother once upon a time. And then he forced himself to let it go, to move on, to leave it behind him. “Because you aren’t quite old enough yet,” he said easily, and swung Adrian up into his arms.

“But I wanna go with Madeleine and Darren!” Adrian whined. He buried his head in his father’s shoulder, but Ron was pretty sure that he wasn’t crying.

He hoped not, anyway. He couldn’t really be sure. Daphne was always better with them when they were crying. Not that he wouldn’t try, of course, because he would. “And you’ll be able to go in a few years,” Ron said soothingly. They hadn’t meant to have Adrian, they’d been content with Madeleine and Darren, but he was still a pleasant surprise, for all that the ten year gap between him and his older siblings was a little bit much.

“But they won’t be there anymore!” the four-year-old wailed, and then he really was crying.

Ron bounced and soothed him, at least until Daphne finished talking with Pansy, then swooped in and saved him. “He wanted to go to the Academy,” Ron mouthed to her, and Daphne smiled a little sympathetically.

“Toria was the same way,” she said, running her fingers through Adrian’s auburn hair. “She hated that I got to go the year before she did.”

“Think it’ll happen every year?” Ron asked.

Daphne just smiled at him. “Still no regrets?” There was a twinkle in her eyes that said she knew the answer.

Ron grinned back at her, then he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his wife’s lips. “Not a one,” he said, and tugged her into a hug. Adrian’s tears quickly turned to giggles as he laughingly protested being squished between his parents.

Ron pulled back, but took Daphne’s hand, and the two walked hand in hand from the station, Adrian giggling happily, all traces of his sorrow gone with the promise of an ice cream from Diagon Alley.

ooOOooOOoo

Severus let out a frustrated growl as his potion exploded once more, fortunately contained by the safety protocols he’d enacted just in case it went badly for the third time. He let the reaction run its course and stormed upstairs, where Remus was lounging on the beach. There were a handful of others on the beach as well, all in varying states of undress, playing roughly with one another, their various scars on display.

Merlin help him, he’d never imagined he’d be so comfortable with so many werewolves.

“Did it work?” Remus asked idly, taking a sip of a pink concoction. Severus sniffed it, and winced at the smell of fake fruit flavor.

Why Remus liked those things, Severus couldn’t begin to imagine. “No,” he said shortly, and collapsed onto the chair beside Remus. At least it was warm, and the sun soothed the ache deep in his bones. “It didn’t. I think that sand keeps making its way into my potions laboratory, not that I have any idea who would possibly be tracking it in.”

Remus snorted. “Severus, I would never,” he said, his expression perfectly innocent.

Severus smirked. “It must have been some other werewolf seducing me after rolling about on the beach last night.”

“It better not have been,” Remus shot back, a little bit of a growl in his voice. Then he relaxed. “In all seriousness, I know that you had little interest in moving to the beach. Thank you for making the concession.”

Severus let himself relax. “It does have some good points,” he said, and let his eyes drift closed. “There are worse ways to spend a retirement. And I know that you’re pleased that Harry likes it out here enough to come visit us frequently.”

“Mmm,” Remus agreed. Soft lips touched Severus’, then Remus said, “He’s thinking of coming out during the first weekend that the school’s in session. He meant to get out last weekend, but there was an incident with some of the portraits that had to be sorted out. You know they hate the new building.”

“He should light them all on fire,” Severus murmured, already giving in to the sun’s allure. He would have a terrible mess to clean up when he woke up, but that was for later. He’d made it to retirement, something he’d once been sure would never happen, and he deserved a nap in the sun with the love of his life if he wanted one.

ooOOooOOoo

“Well, at least this year’s group didn’t scream about Voldemort sitting at the head table,” Draco said dryly, raising a tumbler of firewhiskey in salute from where he was lounging against the Dark Lord in question.

“I can’t decide if I’m offended about that,” Voldemort murmured. He pressed a kiss against Draco’s forehead, then one against his lips after Draco took a sip of his drink. “Although I suppose it has been almost twenty years since I’ve done anything truly terrifying.”

“You should be pleased,” Harry said. He crawled onto the couch, leaning into Voldemort’s other side. He reached out and tangled his hand with Draco’s spare and let his eyes fall closed. “At least now they probably won’t freak out if you teach a Defense class or two.”

“If Zabini lets me,” Voldemort said, and there was a distinct note of pouting in his voice. “I never imagined that my own Death Eaters would start refusing me things once word got out that you’d made me soft.”

Harry’s eyes opened and he darted a mischievous look in Voldemort’s direction. “You’ve never complained about me making you soft before,” he said teasingly. He leaned up and kissed Voldemort, long and lingering, and pulled back just when Voldemort started to get involved. “In fact, you normally complain about the opposite.”

He slid off the couch and slunk off in the general direction of their bedroom. Voldemort swore softly behind him, and Draco let out a low chuckle. “You’re going to let him get away with that kind of disrespect, my lord?” he asked teasingly.

“The both of you are quite disrespectful,” Voldemort said. “Perhaps I need to teach you both a lesson.”

“Not too much of one,” Draco said. “I’d like to be able to stand while I’m teaching Potions tomorrow, thank you very much.”

“Then you’d better stop sassing me,” Voldemort purred.

“But that’s half the fun!” Harry chirped. He spun around with a grin and began unbuttoning his outer robes, undoing each button slowly. “Don’t you want to have fun tonight?”

Voldemort growled, and Harry laughed as the Dark Lord pounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a fun ride, everyone! My next project is a Harry/Sirius one-shot (Of Green-Eyed Monsters), which will hopefully be followed by Chaotic Good (but no promises). I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> If you're interested in my original work, check out the "My Stories" link at robinblackwellwrites.tumblr.com. And if you'd like to see my more fandom-oriented tumblr, you'll want to find me at wizardingwordsmith.tumblr.com. 
> 
> See you all soon!


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